


Heat

by Elveny



Series: Spark of Hope [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Divergence, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Dalish Elves, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Halamshiral, Love, Magic, Romance, Sex, Sex Magic, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Smut, Solavellan, Tenderness, but not as much as to be an AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-07-30 11:16:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 40,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20096386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elveny/pseuds/Elveny
Summary: Solas and Lyssa navigate the problems and thrills of maintaining their relationship amid the politics of the Inquisition and have to find that Corypheus isn't the only source of danger for them...





	1. Halamshiral

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta readers [curiousthimble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousThimble/pseuds/CuriousThimble) and Corey.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. ♥ Kudos and comments are, of course, always welcome.
> 
> Will update on Saturdays.

It was like relearning how to be happy, one day at a time.

Little touches that sent sparks of heat through her, arms wrapped around her, shielding her from the rest of Skyhold when she stumbled into Solas’ room in the middle of the night, bleary-eyed from yet another too-long meeting or returning from one more trip. When she could bury her nose in the crook beneath his ear, felt his whisper on her skin as he turned his face to hers, she knew she was _home_. Lyssa settled into his embrace like into the comfortable warmth of a winter coat, and the soft melody of his voice when he spoke in elvhen to her washed away the tension of the day.

As spring found its way up the mountains and made the trees in the courtyard and garden bloom, smiles came more and more easily to her, fueled by the way he looked at her, by the way they spent whole nights tucked away up on the top floor of the tower where her quarters lay out of earshot, learning to read each other’s bodies like a map.

It was not as carefree as loving Nelos had been. The weight of Inquisitor always lay heavy on her shoulders, and there were days when she didn’t know whether she was unable to move because she was shackled down or because she was floating helplessly on an ocean of responsibilities and letters and decisions. But Solas managed to anchor her. Sometimes, all it took was a short touch of his hand to hers, and she could breathe again.

_ Vhenan_.

My heart. My home. The place where my happiness lies.

There was nothing hidden behind his eyes when the word flowed from his lips like a caress, even the touch of ever-lingering sadness she could see in his careful touches and rigid posture disappearing at her answering smile. He whispered it in her hair, her kiss, against her throat and into her palm. She settled into him like a cat into the warmth of a sunbeam, and he wrapped himself around her like she was the most precious person in the world.

_ Ma’arasha. _

My happiness.

“You’re disgustingly adorable with each other, you know,” Dorian said one evening in the Herald’s Rest, his eyes sparkling, easing the edge to his words as he watched Lyssa watch Solas leave for the night. “For your sake, I might even get to like the man.”

“High praise,” Lyssa said dryly, and he laughed.

“It is! I do have standards - I have!” he insisted when she laughed. “But he’s better since he’s your… whatever it is you’re calling it. Let’s go for ‘consort’, yes?”

“Consort?” she asked, amused, and Dorian nodded.

“Yes. He’s lost some of his edges, somehow. Less airy. He smiles, too, _ and _ means it.”

Lyssa hid her happy blush behind her glass of wine, and her friend grinned before he got serious again.

“Whatever will you do at the masquerade?” he asked, and Lyssa sighed as she set the glass down onto the rough wood of the table.

“Hide it as well as possible,” she said, a shadow in her eyes. “More for his sake than mine.”

“Good luck with that,” he murmured doubtfully. Dorian didn’t have to ask why they wanted to hide their relationship. Openly presenting an elven apostate as the chosen partner for one of the most powerful women in the world, and at Orlais’ court of all things, was asking for trouble. There had already been the first marriage proposals, once even in person. So far, they had managed to avoid any bruised egos, but it was just a matter of time until that would change. And trying to stop one assassination was quite enough for one evening.

* * *

Halamshiral was all gold and marble, masks and too much wine, dances and candles and pretense and the faint smell of something rotten beneath it all that only Lyssa seemed to notice. The Summerday celebration flowed into the masquerade like honeyed wine into a crystal glass, a whirlwind of heady smells, alcohol, and sweetness.

The evening was only half done when Lyssa managed to calmly walk out on the balcony even if she wanted to run, taking her mask off as she came to a halt at the balustrade. For several minutes, she could do nothing but breathe to slow her racing heart, inhaling the scent of the flowers and the night wafting up from the gardens below. The coolness of the night air was soothing after the heat within, the ball a labyrinth of people and candles, looks and whispers. For a long time, she closed her eyes, letting the sound of the music and voices drop away behind her. Only when she felt someone coming out to her, she straightened and turned quickly. When she saw that it was not one of the nobles vying for her attention or looking down at her with disgust, she let out a breath. She gave Iron Bull a smile as he came up next to her.

"That's the fourth time you’ve come out here on your own. What's up?" he asked.

Lyssa would never not be fascinated by how soft the voice of a person so large as Bull could be.

"I needed some air. Too many people,” she explained quietly, forcing her fingers to relax as she looked up at him. He didn’t seem surprised at her answer.

"Yeah, I can understand that." He was silent for a minute before he asked, “So what is it? The masks?”

Her eyebrows rose, and she blinked. “How did you know?”

Bull only gave her a slow smile. “I see you reading people’s faces all the time. Figured it’d be hard for you here.”

Lyssa took a deep breath and nodded. She shouldn’t be surprised that he had been able to detect the way she was navigating the world. He had been Ben-Hassrath after all, and he was one of the most observant people she knew.

“I should have known you of all people would notice,” she said, giving him a small smile. “It's a habit I picked up when all I could do was watch people."

Bull nodded, though his gaze was thoughtful. Lyssa had a feeling he wasn't really surprised by what she said, but still, he waited for her to elaborate, quietly offering her an opportunity to talk. She didn't feel like talking about her past at the moment, though, not even with him. Instead, she gestured towards the crowded corridor behind them. Lowering her voice so they wouldn’t be overheard, she asked, “How do _you _do it? Read them despite their masks?”

She had thought about it ever since he told her the masks did nothing to hide the humans’ true feelings. For her, it was like walking through a jungle of puppets, blank and creepy marionettes dancing without strings, pouring honey laced with poison with their voices. Those wearing half-masks were not so bad, but there were enough people with full masks that covered the whole face that she had no idea what truly lay behind their words and intentions. But she could feel their eyes on her and heard the whispers. The crowd did nothing to put her at ease, too often making it hard to breathe. 

Bull accepted her diversion with a nod before he explained, “You’re too fixated on their facial expressions. Gestures and postures can tell you nearly as much.”

He turned around and nodded towards a couple he had talked about earlier. According to him, the man was sleeping with four different servants, and the woman had an affair with another noble.

“Remember them? See how her body is nearly always at least halfway turned towards that noble with the ridiculous feather hat who continues to look to her? Every now and then, she shows him a bit of ankle beneath her skirts, and every time she does, he hides a smile behind his glass.”

Lyssa followed his gaze, putting her mask back on as she turned to watch. Not for the first time, she thought that the masks gave the Orlesians an advantage. Here, at the ball, she finally understood their preference for them. She knew how expressive her face was, but now, hidden behind gold and swirls, she was as inscrutable as they were. Or at least that was the idea. For the Orlesians, she still probably was as easily readable as a book - and they probably thought her as easily manipulated. Not that she intended to let them. Bull waited patiently while she observed the woman.

After a moment, she nodded. “I see it. Ah, and he just deliberately touched that servant’s fingers when she handed him another glass.” Her brow furrowed. “She hated it.” Unlike the guests, the servants didn’t wear masks.

Bull nodded. “Yeah. Two of the others are mostly indifferent and the third actually likes it, but not her.”

Lyssa pressed her lips together and made a mental note to tell Sera about him so that Red Jenny could investigate.

“He’s also calling for something to drink way more often than his glass is empty, and once even was so careless as to whisper to one of them,” Bull added, then raised his glass towards another couple, both with full-face masks. “Now. What do you see?”

Lyssa forced her eyes away from the unhappy face of the elven servant waiting to be called on again and turned her gaze to the couple Bull had indicated. The overwhelmingly familiar feeling of dread when she couldn’t even tell if they were talking welled up again, but with another deep breath, she made herself look away from the blank golden masks.

“She’s nervous,” she nearly immediately said, blinking in surprise at her own insight. But a second look made her wonder how she could not have seen it before. The woman was holding her fan so tightly that her knuckles had turned white, and she shifted her weight repeatedly from one foot to another. “Oh. I think he’s mad because she spent too much money. If they came together, that is.”

Bull nodded. “They did. Why’d you say that?” He sounded pleased.

“Because he’s really rigid. His body is turned towards her, but he looks away. And the velvet of his coat is partly worn while her dress is new. And laced with gems.”

She more felt than heard Bull’s chuckle, and when she looked up at him, he grinned down on her. “See? No need to see their faces when their bodies tell you nearly all you need to know.”

Some of the tension eased from her shoulders, and she felt lighter as she nodded with a smile. It did take away at least some of the pressure she felt, even if it wouldn’t help with the overwhelmingly crushing feeling of being in a crowd.

“Thank you, Bull,” she said, feeling alright for the first time this evening, and he laid his hand on her shoulder, pressing it reassuringly.

“Any time, boss.”

“Am I interrupting?” came Solas’ voice from within. He had two glasses in his hands but did not approach them until Lyssa smiled. “Not at all.”

Bull nodded at them both and went back inside. As he turned the corner, Lyssa saw him wink at her and, as if by accident, the curtains that were held aside by a silken rope fell close, giving her and Solas some semblance of privacy. Solas raised an eyebrow as he saw it, and they shared a grin before he handed her one of the wine glasses as she took the mask off again.

“I thought you could use it,” he remarked as she thanked him and clinked glasses with her before pulling his own mask off. “How are you holding up?”

Lyssa shrugged, taking a big swig of the wine, then another. “Bull just showed me a few things that should help with the rest of the night. But I confess it’s a bit much.”

“You could’ve come to me,” he said, an unasked question in his voice. As he searched her eyes, tenderness welled up in her, and without a second thought, Lyssa threw all caution for appearances into the wind as she took his hand, holding it tightly.

“You seemed to enjoy yourself. I didn’t want to spoil your mood,” she admitted. Solas slightly shook his head, a smile on his lips as his fingers interlaced with hers, soft caresses in his touch, his thumb drawing lazy circles in her palm, invoking memories of a completely different touch. This time, the reason for her heart speeding up was not at all unpleasant. 

“Ah, Lyssa. You couldn’t if you tried,” he murmured.

She couldn’t say if it was the wine that made her bold or just the need for something familiar and honest, but as she looked at him smiling down on her, she could no longer hold the professional distance she had maintained until now. Quickly, she downed the rest of the wine and put the glass aside. Solas gave her an amused look with raised eyebrows as she turned back to him and took a small step towards him until she was standing so close that she could feel the heat coming off him. Closing her eyes, she inhaled his scent, feeling the warmth of his body against her skin. Her senses were fuzzed by the drink, and yet they felt heightened, lulled in by his warmth.

“What did you say you liked about events like this? A heady blend of intrigue, power, and… sex?” she whispered, her lips brushing over his ear. As she felt him still, she looked up at him from beneath her lashes.

“Was that a challenge?” he asked, his voice dropping to a seductive tone, and he put his glass away as well, his hand coming to her hip to draw her closer towards him, so she was all but touching him. The way his eyes narrowed as she tilted her head ever so slightly sent an excited shiver down her back. Her slow smile was answer enough, and his hand wandered from her hip to her back, running beneath the seam of her low-cut gown that left most of her back free. Goosebumps shivered over her from where he touched her skin, heat radiating over her body. They hadn't had much time for themselves since leaving for Halamshiral, and there was hardly any privacy to be had on their trip. Not with the big entourage, the tailors, coiffeurs, and lessons on dancing and politics, the cramped wagons and tents, and Leliana and Josephine taking up any free moment drilling all of them for this night. By now, she wished for nothing more than a few days or even just hours alone with him.

“You are aware that there is only a curtain between us and the whole of the Orlesian court?” His voice was barely more than a hum in his throat, but there was a dark intensity in his eyes that made her breathless. Lyssa caught her lower lip between her teeth and quickly looked back to the thin barrier that separated them from the rest of the ball.

They shouldn’t. She knew it only too well. Josephine had told her more than once not to display any favoritism, especially for Solas, so her being alone with him out here was already more than the ambassador would approve of. She _should _go back into the rooms full of faceless people and play the role she needed to play.

But as she felt his thumb run over her skin, a completely different need rose in her. And the thought that they could be discovered any minute was strangely exhilarating. When she looked back at him, a flush was on her cheeks.

Solas’ smile deepened at the sight, and his other hand came up to cup her cheek. Lyssa turned her head into the caress, and when his thumb brushed over her lips, she caught it, sucking it into her mouth. He nearly hissed at the suggestive gesture, his lips opening slightly. The tension between them grew, as he stroked his thumb over her tongue, pressing further in, his eyes burning into hers. She flicked her tongue over his thumb, sucking gently, and his eyes darkened at the sight. Her hands found their way to his hips, her touch barely noticeable, and when she released his finger, a sweet smile was on her lips.

“I guess we’d have to be very quiet then,” she whispered in a low voice, and something in his eyes flashed at her words. His fingers curled at her back, and the other hand was in her hair, pulling her head back slightly until she was fully looking at him. Her breath caught in her throat at the intensity and pure want on Solas’ face. Then his mouth was on her ear, his hot breath teasing along her bare neck, followed by a sweep of his tongue that sent shivers through her.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to do that, vhenan?” He had barely finished speaking before he sucked her earlobe between his lips, and a gasp fell from her, sharp desire stirring deep inside her. 

“Worth a try,” she murmured, turning her face towards him to breathe in the scent rising from his skin, a tremble running over her at his low chuckle. It was enough to throw her last concerns overboard and let herself sink fully into the moment, into the thrill of the night. A stolen moment of happiness and closeness in this evening of pretense, didn’t they both deserve that? She felt drunk on his presence, emboldened by the heady scent of flowers and alcohol in the air, the faint music and laughter, the voices fading into the background. With a sigh, she kissed the curve of his neck, feeling his pulse quicken beneath her lips as she arched against him. “Vera em su tarasyl,” she breathed against his skin, desire coursing through her veins. _ Take me to the sky. _

“Vhenan…” The endearment was a groan in the depth of his throat as his hands tightened on her, and then his lips were on hers, kissing her deeply. Her eyes fluttered closed at the way he devoured her mouth, warmth pooling in her lower belly. She nearly stumbled over the hem of her dress as he pushed her backward, but his hands came to her waist, catching her just in time before she bumped against the wall. His kiss drank her muffled moan as his hand found the mound of her breast beneath her gown, brushing the light fabric off her shoulder and cupping her with a tight grip. Lyssa gripped his vest, fumbling with the buttons in a try to get to the shirt and the skin beneath, but he caught her hands, pulling them off himself.

“Din’melana, vhenan.”_ Not yet, my heart._

A satisfied rumble was in Solas’ chest at the way she surrendered beneath his touch, her hands falling to her sides and gripping the fabric of her dress as she leaned against the wall, looking up at him with eyes darkened by desire. The stone against her bare back was cold and rough, scratching, but she barely felt it. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, captured in his burning gaze that held a promise that made her breathless. His fingers painted a trail of heat over her skin, and the nipple of her exposed breast hardened as he circled it, sending a direct pulse to her core. A slow smile tugged at his lips as he felt the tremble beneath his touch, and he lowered his mouth onto hers, stopping just a hairsbreadth before he kissed her.

“Let me hear how quiet you can be, ma’haurasha.”

His voice seemed to curl over her skin, and his kiss caught the moan in her throat as he pinched her nipple between thumb and forefinger. The silken, light fabric of her gown whispered over her skin as Solas pulled the skirt up, running his fingers along the inside of her thigh until he found the cleft between them. Her legs parted willingly for his touch, her hands clutching at him to pull him closer. She could feel his arousal press against her hip through the fabric, and her kiss became more desperate as he rubbed deftly over her mound. His smile curled on her lips, and when he pulled back slightly, there was a devious sparkle in his eyes.

“Shh,” he hushed, just as his hand dipped into her underpants, one slender finger stroking over the slit, teasing her in slow, deliberate movements. She gasped against his lips, her hands clawing into his hips. Blood rushed through her ears as his finger dipped deeper, parting her, and a satisfied hum came from Solas’ lips at the wetness he found there. His thumb was still rubbing over her nipple, sending streaks of desire through her, and every apprehension Lyssa might have had was burned away by the heat between them. His name was a whisper on her lips as he lazily stroked over the center of her desire in the same rhythm as he teased her nipple.

“Tell me, ma’haurasha,” he murmured, his breath tracing over her mouth, “tell me how you would like me to take you.” Her breath caught in her throat at his words, and her eyes widened, shrouded by raw desire. Slowly, he rocked himself against her, the low rumble in his chest growing until she realized it as a barely veiled moan. “You’re so ready for me. Should I just take you against the wall?” His finger sank deeper into her, then another, curling into the center of her heat, and she slapped one hand to her mouth, barely biting back a low, desperate moan at his ministrations. He accentuated his words by another slow movement of his hips. “Or would you like me to bend you over the balustrade and take you from behind?” His fingers worked relentlessly in and out of her, and she had started to roll her hips to meet his movements, all but writhing beneath his touch. Her breath came in short, hot whimpers, her eyes dark and transfixed by him. “Tell me, Lyssa,” he whispered, his voice dropping until it was barely more than a tremble against her skin as he ran his lips over her ear, teeth nipping at her earlobe.

Her head swam, and her skin seemed to burn all over. Her desire curled tighter and tighter in her belly when he slightly upped the pace of his fingers, and she was glad that she was pinned between Solas and the wall or her legs would have given way underneath her. “Anything,” she gasped out and reached for him again, rubbing a hand over the bulge in his pants, “_please,_ Solas.”

Now it was his turn to groan, pressing his lips against the curve of her neck to muffle it. Lyssa used the opportunity to find the laces that held his pants and began to undo them with feverish fingers. She freed his length, her fingers closing around its pulsing heat to give it a few slow strokes and she could feel him thrusting nearly involuntarily, desperately in her firm grip, quickening his own rhythm within her. She whimpered without meaning to, and immediately, Solas stopped, taking her hand off him and pulling his fingers out of her. A low, disappointed sound escaped her. The next moment, his hand was on her mouth, slick from her arousal.

“You wanted to be silent, vhenan.” His voice was hoarse, and she could feel him twitch against her. The knowledge that he was just as affected as she sent another anticipatory tremor through her. His fingers wandered over her lips, and she opened them, letting her tongue flicker out. His eyes narrowed, and his breath was a low groan as she sucked his fingers clean, tasting herself. For an endless moment, he just looked at her, as his hand wandered from her mouth over her throat, slowly trailing her skin over her shoulder, pushing the second strap of her dress over her shoulder so that both breasts were uncovered, tightening in the cool night air. Lyssa let her head sink back against the wall, her breath heavy in anticipation. Solas’ eyes slowly wandered over her body, and the tip of his tongue flickered over his lower lip with an appreciative smile. Then he moved slightly against her, and she felt her gown being lifted, as one of his hands wandered over her throat again, his thumb feeling her racing pulse under the skin. With a sudden tug, he grabbed one of her legs and lifted it up, the fabric of her underpants stretching nearly painfully over her throbbing center. She bit her lip to catch the gasp in her throat and eagerly wrapped the leg around him, fitfully writhing against him. She was rewarded by another stroke of his fingers over her folds and a soft kiss on her lips. 

“Quiet now,” he whispered, and her squirming against him turned into a tense stillness. A tremble ran over her as she felt his fingers wander beneath the seam of her underpants and with a sharp tug, something ripped, and she felt the cool air against her wetness. The hand on her throat wandered around her neck, and Solas pulled her in for a deep kiss. Immediately, she put her arms around his neck, kissing him desperately as she finally felt him push against her, the tip of his length parting her. It was a shallow thrust, barely breaching her, and she trembled around him. He grabbed her other leg, his breathing hard and heavy, lifting her against the wall for a better angle, and another roll of his hips sank him further into her. His moan vibrated against her lips, and she clawed at his shoulders, urging him on with tiny movements. It only made his grip on her hips stronger, holding her still, and another forceful thrust buried him deep inside her.

Her body felt like molten glass, her thoughts barely more than a disconnected string of _moremoremore_, _ please_, the words withering on her tongue. Her lips were on his neck, teeth scratching over his skin as she clenched around him. In the corner of her consciousness, she was aware of the laughter and talks just beyond the curtain, and the way he breathed his restraint through his nose as he sat still within her. Her desire rippled from her core over her spine, and she tried to buck against him for more friction, for just _more_, but his grip kept her in place.

“Ha’mi’in, ma’vhenan,” he growled into her ear, _ relax, my heart,_ causing another shiver to run through her, and then he finally started moving, slowly, deliberate. Lyssa felt as if the desperate attempt to keep quiet heightened every sensation. She could feel every whimper in her core, every swallowed moan, her body strung like a bow as she panted through each of his languid thrusts. One of his hands found her breast again, rolling her nipple in his palm and she had to bite hard down on his shoulder to keep her outcry in at the sudden spike of heat rushing through her. Solas sharply drew his breath in, and she could feel the tremble going through his body as he sped his rhythm up, her name falling from his lips in a strangled pant. It did not take long until he used all the leverage he had to slam his hips against hers, low groans in his throat that came and fell with each thrust. Lyssa had forgotten everything around them, the world getting lost in the heat swirling in her belly, the tension building more and more. Her pleasure left her in strained little whimpers, and then everything within her tensed, her head falling back. In an instant, his mouth was on hers, drinking her deep, sobbing moan as she became undone around him. He was still kissing her when his thrusts became erratic, his fingers clawing into her hips as he buried himself within her again and again until he was spent.

Lyssa clung to him with what little strength she had left as she rode out the aftershocks of her release, small shivers running over her as she panted against his neck. Slowly, her heartbeat returned to normal, and her breathing calmed down. Eventually, she felt Solas’ lips on her throat, pressing little kisses along the side of it up to her ear.

“Are you alright, vhenan?” he murmured, and she chuckled slightly, tightening her arms around him.

“More than that.” She lifted her head to look at him, her eyes bright. Tenderly, she caressed his cheek. “That was… unexpectedly intense.”

Solas hummed his agreement with a smile. “Maybe I should make you stay quiet more often,” he smirked and she laughed quietly.

“Maybe you should.”

For a second, he just looked at her with rare softness in his eyes. “Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he breathed, and her smile widened, wild happiness coursing through her.

“Ar lath ma,” she answered and kissed him again. When they separated, he let her down, and they fixed their clothing as well as possible. Lyssa stepped with a shake of her head out of her destroyed underpants. For a second, she was unsure what to do with them, but before she could come to a decision, Solas took them with a mischievous smile and pocketed them.

“It’s a good thing that nobody but you sees beneath this skirt,” she murmured and Solas chuckled deep in his throat, running a hand over her back. She felt the soothing tingle of magic run over her bare skin, realizing he probably healed the scratches left from the wall.

“I might take advantage of that fact, depending on how the evening progresses,” he said, and a warm shiver ran through her. Before she could answer, though, the bell that called her back to the ballroom rang. 

Lyssa looked towards the curtain and the lights beyond. Regret flooded her. "I need to go back to the Game,” she sighed, then she turned back to Solas with a whimsical smile. “Hold that thought, though,” she said as she put her mask back on and tried to smooth the locks that had come free of her hair back into the elaborate braids upon her head.

“I will,” he smiled, reluctantly letting go of her hand, a promise burning in his eyes.

“How do I look?” she asked, fully aware that there was no way she looked as pristine as before their encounter, and that not even her mask would fully hide the blush in her cheeks or her lips swollen from his kisses. But what were a few more comments compared to the happy warmth inside her as she looked at Solas? And in the end, it wouldn’t matter. She would never be able to please the whole court.

Solas ran a cool finger over her still flushed cheek and smiled. “As if you have played a part of the Game that the Orlesians didn’t expect you to play,” he answered, and she chuckled.

“Being unpredictable in the Game is a good thing, isn’t it? With luck, they’ll think they underestimated me and that I actually know how to play it.”

He laughed, fondness in his eyes as he looked at her. “I think they underestimate you anyway, vhenan.”

Lyssa was far from being sure of that, but her smile was soft as she raised herself to kiss him one last time. “Thank you for making at least some part of this night worthy of happy memories,” she murmured against his lips. “I’ll see you later.”

Then she turned towards the curtain, taking one last, deep breath and disappeared again into the crowd.


	2. Hands Dripping With Blood

The memory of Solas’ touch lingered like a light in her smile as Lyssa made her way back out into the crowd. But the longer she walked the halls of the palace, the further away it seemed. Soon, the smile had disappeared again, and the sound of the bell seemed to echo throughout the rest of the evening. Its metal drone warped its way into Lyssa’s consciousness, putting her more on edge with every fake smile directed at her, with every clue she and her companions found that pointed to more conspiracies than any of them had anticipated. Every unexpected fight, every piece of gossip, and every person they found entangled in the net of politics made the ball seem like a mask of its own behind which only bloody smiles and sharp teeth and cruelty waited.

And above it all, the death that loomed like a monster in the shadows. 

"We could let her die."

The words were clear and sharp, cold in their simplicity, and Lyssa’s eyes widened as she looked at Leliana.

"We have that option?" she asked carefully, not looking at anyone but Leliana, ignoring the shocked outcry from Josephine.

"Of course," the Nightingale answered, holding Lyssa's gaze. Her explanation was short, her eyes determined as she spoke of Gaspard on the throne, a puppet in the hands of Briala. Lyssa felt strangely detached as she listened, as if this was happening to someone else... someone who belonged in the robes of the Inquisitor. Josephine looked decidedly unhappy, but her tutelage had been good enough that Lyssa actually understood the implications behind Leliana’s words. She had studied the connections behind the Orlesian throne long enough to see the power Briala would have. The power the Inquisition would have with an ally like this.

And for the first time, Lyssa understood what Josephine had meant when she had said to look not at people but at power structures in terms of diplomacy and empires.

There was a cold, hard knot in her stomach as she looked over the ballroom, the dancing masks and the affected laughs in the golden light, the continuous music that sounded more like a cacophony through the hundreds of voices and footsteps. All she could see was how everyone was pretending, playing with words and gestures and lives alike.

With a deep breath that barely seemed to pass her throat, Lyssa nodded and looked back to Leliana. Her spymaster looked at her with a mix of sympathy and hardness, and she felt strangely understood.

“Let’s do it,” Lyssa confirmed quietly but with a firm voice. 

"What? Why! Why would you do that?!" Sera exclaimed.

Her eyes snapped to Sera’s, and she frowned in confusion. "I thought you of all people would understand,” she said after a moment of silence. Sera was, after all, the person who was most adamant about bringing the people in power that were cruel and murderous but couldn’t be touched by the law to justice. But this was where she drew the line?

Sera’s hands flew agitatedly through the air. “But she didn’t do anything to you!”

For a moment, Lyssa could do nothing but stare at her. “What? Do you know what Celene did to our people?"

"What, elves? Pfft. Our people, my a-" Sera started, but for once, Lyssa didn't let her finish.

"_My _ people then,” she snapped, her voice sharp and cold as ice. “In case you don’t remember, I am from an alienage, too, I know how it is living there, and I have not forgotten how it is to be at the whim of human rulers. I remember what she did. She's not called 'The butcher of Halamshiral' without reason. And Gaspard? He’s a Chevalier! They raid and rape and kill indiscriminately, they are sent into alienages specifically to do this, and nobody is even trying to stop them! Nobody cares about a few hundred knife-ears after all, certainly not the shems ruling over them. But I do, Sera, I care. I'll support Briala."

Sera scoffed, angry red dots on her cheeks. "That two-faced asshat? She's not better than those fuckin' nobles, grabbing at every opportunity to better herself!"

"As if being an elf at a human court is a position to relax in,” Lyssa shot back, feeling sparks of her fire dance between her fingertips in her agitation. “I knew Shianni, the appointed Ban of Denerim. She was a damn good woman, and what happened to her? She was killed after just a few years into her position, and more blood was spilled, and our oh-so-great king and queen did nothing to save her or anyone in Denerim's alienage. But if Briala has Gaspard in her hands, she might actually be able to change something!"

"But she was sleeping with Celene, even as she killed the elves at Halamshiral!" Sera protested. “She is just the same as them nobles!”

This time, it was Lyssa who scoffed. "I don't care she slept with Celene. They parted ways after Celene bathed herself in elven blood, and you saw yourself that Briala is not above getting her hands dirty."

"Yeah," Sera sneered, "and not above killing people who might hurt her agenda."

Lyssa flinched as she remembered the elven servant they had saved from an obvious trap set by Briala. But she didn't waver. She shook her head, steel in her voice. "I'm not saying Briala is perfect. But if I have the option, I'll be damned if I let Celene keep the throne. Her hands are dripping with the blood of innocents. She deserves to die."

"By that logic, you could kill half of the people here," Bull interjected calmly, and Lyssa shot him a look, riled up by the argument with Sera.

"Give me the means to do it without hurting everyone depending on them, and I might just do that," she said sharply.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, and it was only when she felt Solas’ touch on her back, a steady, comforting weight between her shoulder blades that she realized she had her fists clenched. With a deliberate breath out, she relaxed her fingers, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, her eyes were hard and clear behind her mask.

"So how do we proceed?" she asked calmly, looking at Leliana, putting all thoughts of the magnitude of this decision out of her mind. There would be enough time to panic about it later.

* * *

The morning was already dawning when Lyssa stood on the balcony, her dress fluttering in the slight wind as she stared into the sky. Her mask lay forgotten next to her on the balustrade. Slowly, a golden hue bled into the dark red that had risen from the horizon, chasing away the deep blue of the night. It wouldn’t be long now, and the sun would rise on a new Orlais. One that, for the first time ever, had an elf behind the throne.

She had talked for hours to Briala after everything was over and done with. There would be no more Chevaliers in the alienages to test their blades just for fun. There would be no more burning of alienages, and the gates would be gone. For the first time in centuries, there was hope for the Dales.

Gaspard had been silently fuming, and at one point had nearly outright attacked her, taking several heavy steps towards her, hands balled into fists, cruelty and hatred coming off him in waves. Her reaction had been instinctive, flinching back and reaching for a staff that was not there, a cold fear in her.

“You would not want to begin your rule by assaulting the Herald of Andraste, Gaspard, would you?” Briala’s voice had been cold, full of steel, and the Duke had stopped. There was nothing soft about Briala, everything but steel had burned away in the fires of Halamshiral. Lyssa knew Briala would survive the rule behind Gaspard, that she would thrive on it. The Duke had no idea what awaited him.

When Lyssa had left the room, she had to stop behind a pillar, steadying herself against the cold marble and biting back a sob as the tension left her. She had seen elven servants weeping with joy after Briala had gone by and talked to them. Several had come up to Lyssa and silently pressed her hand in gratitude.

And yet, now that she stood on the balcony, watching the sunrise, all Lyssa could think about was Celine’s face. In that moment of shock and pain, she not been The Butcher of Halamshiral but just a dying woman. A woman she had decided to have killed. Just like every other murderous, uncaring noble. She had finally fallen into her role as Inquisitor.

Celene’s death had probably saved hundreds of lives. But at what cost?

“Lyssa?”

Solas’s voice was soft behind her, and she quickly wiped her cheeks as she was pulled out of her reverie.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, and she could hear the worry in his voice as he came over to her.

“Ir abelas,” Lyssa murmured and gave him a tiny smile as he leaned against the balustrade next to her, smooth fingers carefully and soothingly running over her back.

“Vhenan, are you alright?” he asked.

_ Alright. _

Right now, Lyssa felt as if she could never be alright ever again. As if a fundamental part of her had inevitably been destroyed in Orlais’ Great Game - caught in, and sacrificed to the net of intrigue and politics she so despised. For a short moment, she was tempted to brush Solas’ question away, to just push everything that had happened to the back of her mind and try to forget it, but when she saw his loving, worried look, she found herself unable to. Slowly, she shook her head.

“No, I’m not,” she confessed, her voice small and forlorn.

Solas’ arm came around her, and after a moment’s hesitation, Lyssa turned towards him, and he pulled her into a tight embrace. With a deep, choked up sigh, she put her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes, letting his warmth seep into her to curl around the cold knot around her aching heart. His energy seemed to shield them from the rest of the world, and she let herself fall into it, shutting everything out that was beyond his arms, beyond his body against hers. For a while, he only held her, patiently waiting until her breathing had returned to a slow, steady rhythm. From inside, there was still music wafting out towards them, getting lost between the first chirps from the wakening birds. Solas was warm and firm, a soothing, strong presence in the shambles of what was left of this night. 

“What’s on your mind, vhenan?” he asked quietly, pressing a kiss on her hair.

She took a deep breath. When she answered, her voice was tired and small. “I’m a monster.”

She felt him still in her arms, then his embrace tightened. “Why would you think that?”

“Because…” Lyssa trailed off, trying to collect herself. Finally, she said, “Because I played the Game. I’ve become one of the people I never wanted to become. I let Celene die.”

Solas pulled back slightly to search her face. She could not quite decipher his expression, but he was calm and thoughtful. “If you could go back and change the evening,” he asked quietly, “would you do it?”

Lyssa looked up at him, her eyes burning. There it was, the crux of the whole thing. “No.” Beneath the grief, there was steel in her eyes. But after a second, she softened again, a tremble to her voice. “Which is why I know I’m right. I mean… I knew Celene would die, would be murdered. I could have stopped it. And I stood by and let it happen. Deliberately. Who but a monster does that? I did not even have the decency to kill her myself.” She took a deep breath to calm her voice before she continued, “And the worst thing is - if I had had the chance to kill her myself, I don’t know if I could have done it. I’m not a murderer - or at least I thought so until tonight. But I stood by and let a murderer do her work. So how am I better than she?”

Solas watched her calmly, his arms still firmly wrapped around her. He did not let her go for a second, and Lyssa appreciated his quiet support, holding on to his presence as if to a lifeline. His next question surprised her, however. “Did you do it for personal gain?”

She frowned, not quite following. “Of course not. You know that.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he inclined his head. “I do. And that alone makes you a better person than Florianne. You put the lives of others above your personal wellbeing.”

“By letting someone die,” Lyssa whispered.

“Does it help to know that she was no innocent?”

She took a deep breath, letting the cold morning air wash through her as she pondered the question. “In a way, yes. I couldn’t have killed someone I knew had done nothing wrong. Celene deserved death. And yet… the moment she died, she was… just a person.” Then she shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment. “Maybe we could’ve tried to find another way. Somehow.”

For the longest moment, Solas just looked at her as if she was the most precious person in the world. “Ma’vhenan,” he said, his voice vibrating through her, a tenderness in his eyes that seemed to echo through her, touching her very heart, even if she didn’t quite understand it. “You were faced with an impossible choice,” he said quietly, “and you chose the one thing that you knew would help those who could never help themselves. The fact that you are in conflict with your decision shows that you are far from being a monster.” He tenderly touched her face. “Sometimes, the burden of the leader is to accept that there are no good options. Yes, maybe there would have been other options that neither your advisors nor you saw, but…”

When she turned her face away with a click of her tongue, trying not to let the tears fall that welled up at his words, he caught her chin and gently turned it so she looked at him again.

With great softness, he wiped a tear from her cheek, his voice low and soothing as he continued with emphasis, “… but this does not mean any of them would have been better. Maybe you could have supported the civil war against Celene. But a civil war always kills innocents. Always. Or you could have reconciled Briala with the woman who killed her family and lied to her, but that would not have put a stop to most of the practices Briala now can end with Gaspard as her puppet. Briala is an admirable woman. She organized resistance against a powerful enemy, using only her wits and the resources at hand. She will do well on behalf of the elves of Orlais.”

Lyssa bit her lip and nodded, looking back at the sky that was by now shimmering in all colors. Another tear fell from her lashes. She knew the truth in Solas’ words for what it was, but the image of how Florianne buried her knife in Celene’s body was edged into her memory in sharp, burning outlines, underlined by her own hardness and disgust. Her voice felt broken as she said, “I still feel like I’ve failed. I failed myself.”

“No, my love,” Solas assured her, his voice low but assertive. “You accepted the prize for saving innocent lives and took it upon yourself by making the decision yourself instead of pushing it onto anyone else. That is anything but failing.” He took her face in both hands, searching her eyes. “Trust me.”

A sigh fell from her lips, and with it a burden she had carried with herself for the last few hours, and that seemed to glue her very being down to the earth, making everything from breathing to moving hard. She hadn’t known how much she had needed to hear this. “Thank you, vhenan,” she whispered.

“Any time,” he answered. Above them, the first rays of the rising sun let the golden and white walls of the palace gleam brightly, and the shadows deepened around them in a strange twilight. From inside, laughter and voices still wafted outside, but the music had stopped. The song of the birds was brilliant around them, as she rose onto her toes and kissed Solas. Her lips brushed softly over his, a touch so light it tingled. One of his hands wandered from her face to her neck and pulled her in closer, tracing her lips with his until they parted beneath him. As her body melted against his, she lost herself in the moment, her grief falling from her in the sensuality of his kiss. All the complications, all the hurt, and doubts could wait.

They would still be there once they left Halamshiral.

When they went to their room to find a few minutes of rest before the voyage back to Skyhold, the morning already flooded through the high, arched windows, painting rivers of light onto the marble floors. After the ruckus of the last night, the silence in the palace seemed nearly obscene.

Their steps were barely audible as they passed the ballroom, now empty and cool. The servants had opened most doors and windows to let out the remnants of stale air, sweat, candle smoke and echoes of music, laughter, and death. Here and there, the last guests trailed back to their carriages or rooms, hushed words getting lost in the faint breeze. Lyssa had stopped trying to pretend for the Court, her fingers tightly interwoven with Solas’ as they walked silently through the corridors.

“Oh,” she said as a thought crossed her mind when she closed the door of her room behind her, and Solas turned to look at her questioningly. With a hint of regret in her voice, she explained, “I never got my dance.”

A warm smile came on his face as he took her hand and pulled her closer towards him, his arm slipping around her waist. For a few, graceful steps, he turned with her as if to a melody only playing for them. “There will be other opportunities, vhenan,” he assured her warmly as they came to a halt again. “Other dances more worth dancing.”

She smiled, her hand trailing over his shoulder to curl in his neck. “Promise?”

“Ma dirvhenan,” Solas murmured, and the words were mirrored in his eyes. _ I promise. _

* * *

They were scheduled to leave Halamshiral for Skyhold in the late morning. Josephine had made sure to send Lyssa a dispatch as she was just getting dressed to remind her that she still had to play her part, and so she was uncomfortably hot in her elaborate riding gown with the Inquisition’s emblem blazing across her back as she stepped forward towards Gaspard.

She could see Briala stand in the first line of officials behind him, giving her an imperceptible nod. Lyssa could see the elven woman’s eyes gleam beyond her silver mask, steel and fire in her expression, and something in her relaxed. This was what she would remember - the elf behind the throne. 

Lyssa forced her eyes back to the man in front of her, trying to look past the elaborate golden mask hiding his face. His outfit was even more splendid than yesterday, a sign of his elevated status. She could see the tension in his posture, and the image of how he had advanced on her the night before flashed before her eyes. She swallowed, then she gave him her hand. His calloused fingers closed around it just a tad too hard.

“Emperor Gaspard,” Lyssa said, forcing a smile onto her face, hoping that everybody watching would attribute anything lacking in her demeanor to the short night and the events of the ball. She no longer had the protection of a mask to hide her emotional state. “After the horrible events of last night, I can only hope that today will mark the beginning of more happy and peaceful days. Thank you again for your invitation to the ball. I hope that Celene’s death will not cast too long a shadow on your reign. I am looking forward to our cooperation and glad to call you an ally to the Inquisition.”

The words curdled on her tongue, and she sent a silent prayer to Dirthamen, asking for forgiveness in her deceit. The slight curling of Gaspard’s lips told her that he knew the lie for what it was, and his hand tightened on hers to the point of being painful.

“As am I, your Worship.” Gaspard took a step closer, leaning over her hand and gallantly holding it towards his lips, the perfect image of a gracious host and Emperor saying goodbye to an honored guest. A smile was on his face as he straightened, towering over her. When he spoke, his voice was dripping with venom, so low that nobody beyond Lyssa could hear him as he drawled out the words, “You will find, Inquisitor, that I do not take well to people controlling me. Pray that you'll never meet me alone or I will show you your place as an expendable elven whore."

Her smile had already been forced, but now it froze on her face. He inclined his head, his cold eyes never leaving hers and said loud enough for their audience, “I wish you a safe journey, your Worship. I look forward to welcoming you back in Halamshiral soon.”

Lyssa’s pulse was roaring in her ears as she looked up at Gaspard, but when she tried to pull her hand away, he only tightened his grip. He let her go only a second later, but he had made his point, loud and clear. As if from afar, she heard herself say, “Thank you, your Highness.”

As she stepped back, Josephine took a step forward, her voice as calm, soothing, and elegant as always as she made the appropriate last speeches. Lyssa didn’t hear a single word, her spine rigid as she looked past Gaspard to Briala. Not long now, and she could leave this place. The sun shone brilliantly down on them, promising a beautiful, warm day, but she felt cold. Absentmindedly, she rubbed her hand where Gaspard had gripped it. She wouldn’t be surprised if he had left a bruise.

Briala’s gaze found her eyes, and it was as if a jolt went through her. Slowly, she straightened, and the cold shiver that had run down her spine turned to icy steel. _ Never again shall we submit,_ she reminded herself, raising her chin slightly. Never again. They had taken their fate into their own hands. Gaspard could choke on it, for all she cared, and his threats would be washed away like dust in the rain. One of the most powerful empires was now effectively reigned by an elf, backed by an elf-led, powerful organization. And they had laid the foundations of everything that would happen now in Halamshiral, at the last elven home. She looked back at the Emperor, and the smug smile on his lips faltered at her gaze. Only when she felt a careful touch on her back, nudging her to go, did she remember to smile and nod. The smile bled from her face again as soon as she turned and started to walk towards their horses.

“Commander,” she called as soon as they were in a safe distance. Cullen was next to her in just a second, and she could hear the surprise in his voice at the use of his title instead of his name.

“Inquisitor?”

“I want security doubled, and send a raven to Skyhold as well. Gaspard has made a threat against me, and I won’t take it lightly, even if it is unlikely that he will try something so soon.” They had reached their horses, and Cullen gave her a short nod before he turned to his next-in-command to give some quick orders. Lyssa pulled herself into the saddle and gave Halamshiral a last look. Its walls and towers shone brightly in the sunlight, gold glinting and marble shimmering, the trees a dark green beneath a clear, blue sky. But all Lyssa could see was a grave, built on elven land. _ One day, _ she thought, _ we will have it back. One day. _ Then she turned her eyes on the road back towards Skyhold and, with a nudge of her thighs, started the journey home.


	3. What Matters

"That's not quite the look of a pining lover," Dorian remarked, leaning next to Lyssa. She looked up in surprise. She had been so deeply lost in thought that she hadn’t heard him approach. The tower was quiet. Most people had already called it a night, only a few still sitting in the library or talking quietly. Apart from a few occasional caws from Leliana’s raven above them, not much could be heard. 

He gave her a little wink, and continued, "And still you have been watching him for the better part of a half-hour. Don't tell me there's been quarreling? I couldn't take it for the life of me."

Lyssa boxed him slightly on the arm and shook her head, a small smile in the corner of her lips before she looked back down. Below, Solas was still bent over his notes, his desk filled with open books, quills, ink, and papers. Two candles stood next to a tiny assortment of seemingly random items - a feather, a stone with a fossilized shell, a sapling in a plant pot, a ribbon. Small gifts she had brought him from her travels without him, all with a story that had put a smile on his face. But today, there was a heavy feeling where she normally only felt lightness and happiness when she thought of him.

Dorian nudged her when she didn’t answer directly, and she shook her head again. "There's been no quarreling, don't worry," she said quietly.

Dorian just gave her a look, leaning his elbows on the balustrade. "Something is obviously wrong, though. You haven't smiled once, and you always smile when you watch him."

Lyssa hesitated for a second, then she sighed and looked at her friend. "He lied to me," she said softly, and Dorian turned towards her, suddenly intent.

"What on earth about?" While his words had his usual air of playfulness, his slightly furrowed brow and the way he pressed his lips together told her he was concerned.

Lyssa bit her lip. That was the crux, wasn’t it? "I don't know," she confessed.

Her friend raised both his eyebrows. "Huh. Now you have me intrigued. Do go on."

Lyssa took a last look at Solas and indicated Dorian to follow her. They made their way to the battlements, Dorian growing more curious by the minute.

"Congratulations, Lyssa, you have me completely in your hands for once,” he said as soon as she stopped, giving her a little flourish and a wink. “What is this about that you won't tell me in the library?"

Lyssa raised an eyebrow. "You seriously expected me to talk about that basically in earshot of Solas?"

Dorian laughed. "But of course! Where's the fun now?” He gave her a grin when she rolled her eyes at him before his voice softened. “Alright. Tell me. How can you know he lied but not what he lied about?"

Lyssa sighed and leaned against the cold stone of the battlements. For a moment, she looked up into the evening sky where the first stars started to twinkle. "It's… it's strange. Something he said about…" She interrupted herself and bit her lip. A cold wind whipped up from below where the snowy mountains stretched before them, making her shiver. Shaking her head, she murmured, "Ah, this is ridiculous."

"Come on. Something he said about…" Dorian prompted, not in the least hiding his curiosity.

Lyssa sighed again. "Something he said about being at court. And about our people. Or rather his people."

"Your… his people. Elves?" Dorian seemed as confused as Lyssa felt.

"Yes - no. I don't know, that's the strange part I can't figure out."

"Lyssa. Darling. Honey. Peaches." Dorian grabbed her hand emphatically. "This isn't working. I can't make head or tails from what you’re saying. Please start from the beginning?"

If she hadn’t been so confused herself, she would have laughed at the way her friend looked at her, full of concern and warmth, but now, she only smiled at the assortment of endearments. A guard passed them, and they gave her a quick nod, waiting until she was out of earshot again. Eventually, Lyssa continued, "Alright. We talked about what happened in Halamshiral, and he said something about how he had forgotten how much he missed court intrigue." She paused, and Dorian took the chance.

"How much he missed court intrigue? When was he at court?"

Lyssa gestured and nodded. "That's what I said! And that is when he lied. He meant what he said about the court and it matches what he told me in Orlais, so I’m sure that he actually does miss court intrigue and has experience at court. But when I asked about it, he diverted immediately, saying that he as an elven apostate of course never was at court, how could he, but that he had observed such gatherings many times in the Fade."

Dorian looked skeptical. "Hm. Well, he did indeed see many things in the Fade."

Lyssa nodded, but she was not convinced. "I know he did. He even showed me some of them. But not this. I saw it in his eyes, I swear. It wasn't in the Fade that he experienced this.”

She looked at Dorian with a helpless gesture. “And then he was confused when I talked about elves as our people. I mean, I'm used to it with Sera, but he honestly didn't get whom I meant as I said that I think Briala will do good for our people. He thought I meant mages!”

“That is weird,” Dorian agreed, frowning deeply, and Lyssa nodded.

“When I asked him about it, he said he never saw himself as having much in common with elves. Which is utterly ridiculous, especially considering what he and I have been talking about again and again, and not just he and I. And then, just a few minutes later, he said something about how his people were never associated with the Old Gods."

Her friend blinked, then he shook his head. "I am sorry, I still cannot quite follow. If he doesn't consider elves as his people - although I recall him talking about elves as 'his people' several times - then who does he consider his people?"

"I don't know," Lyssa confessed helplessly. It wasn't the first time that this discrepancy in Solas' words bothered her. Mostly, she had put it down to thoughtlessness or the fact that he grew up with neither the Dalish nor with the city elves. If he never experienced any of the distinctive parts of either life, how could he feel kin to them? But something in the way he had talked this time had made her take notice.

"Well. He never quite had the air of a wandering apostate," Dorian said thoughtfully. “Have you asked him about it?”

Lyssa shrugged and looked at her hands. “I tried, but he… He avoids giving a straight answer. It’s frustrating,” she said quietly.

For a moment, Dorian just stared out into the mountainside, then his eyes lit up. Straightening, he clapped his hands together. "I know what we need. We need a story to put the points together. Come on!"

Not long afterwards, Lyssa found herself in her room, sprawled before the fire, a glass of wine in her hand. The stand on which she dried her herbs had been put aside and filled the room with the faint fragrance of lavender, embrium, and elfroot. Varric and Dorian sat across her, Dorian popping some grapes into his mouth. Somehow he had managed to organize a picnic in the shortest of times. Varric looked from Lyssa to Dorian.

"Alright, let me get this straight. Solas has been at court before, does or does not in some way consider elves his people, has the bearings of some sort of noble or at least aristocrat and not a wandering apostate but does not want anybody to know he has been at court."

"Correct," Dorian nodded. "Spin us a story! What kind of background would you give a character with these traits in your books?"

"I really don't feel like we should do this," Lyssa muttered unhappily. It felt wrong talking about Solas that way - but at the same time, she was at a loss for what she could do otherwise. She had tried to talk to Solas directly, and all he had given her had been vague diversions and lies. And nothing Dorian or Varric knew was confidential, on the contrary. Everything had been said in public, in parts even directly to them.

"Oh, come on," Dorian said. "Don't leave us hanging, not after all this! You know we'll talk about it anyway and would have sooner or later with or without you. Nothing you said is complete news, you know."

"He does have a point, Ember," Varric chipped in. "Solas has raised many eyebrows and is in fact the center of several rumors, especially since the two of you… you know. Plus, it's really not that hard to figure out."

Lyssa straightened, curiosity and astonishment battling within her. "It isn't?"

"Do tell!" Dorian called out, an eager expression in his face.

Varric put his glass aside and spread his hands. "Now. Don't forget this is all speculation. But it does fit what you told me.” Lyssa smiled as he fell into the voice he always used for telling stories, that slight lilt and lowered cadence that made it so easy to fall into his words and that woke pictures before their eyes.

Varric leaned forward. “Imagine a young elven boy, barely into his teens, who, just having discovered his magic, flees the templars and stumbles across an entourage of country nobles. They are having a picnic, or it's a hunting expedition, or just frolicking in the countryside - let your imagination run wild."

“Ha!” Dorian snickered. Lyssa and Varric both shot him similar glances, and he grinned, holding up his hands. "Hey, you said ‘frolicking’ and 'let your imagination run wild'."

Lyssa shook her head and laughed quietly while Varric gave him a wink and said, "Maybe even that. Probably even that. Anyway, the young elven apostate tries to hide in vain, and an equally young noble girl finds him. She is beautiful and kind-hearted and promises to protect him. She, of course, falls madly in love with him and he with her."

Lyssa couldn't help the dry undertone in her voice, even though it was hard to hide her amusement. "Do they now?"

Dorian nodded vigorously. "Everything is better with a love story!"

Varric agreed, "Absolutely everything is better with a love story, any publisher can tell you that. Besides, you don't want to deny that he is attractive enough to draw the attention of powerful people?"

She hid her smile behind her glass as the tips of her ears turned red. Dorian grinned.

"Chin dimple," he said in a conspiratorial voice, and she chuckled.

"I was thinking more of jawline, but yes. Chin dimple, too."

"Anyway," Varric interrupted, "before you two start swooning over other body parts I don't want to know about, back to the story. Our resourceful young noble girl manages to convince her parents to grant the poor elven boy shelter - and since they are so far out in the country, no big cities, no Circles but instead some court mage who can teach him, they agree. The details are wobbly, and we may never know how exactly she managed it, but here we have it: our young Solas manages to win the heart of a noble girl and, after some years, the official place as court mage in this hinterland country bannorn.” Varric took up his glass again, taking a sip before raising it towards his friends. “So, basically growing up at court, even if it was small, he is, of course, familiar with the intrigues and games, and since he was not only in an official capacity at court but also the lover of a noble, he also has the bearing of one. Plus, he never really had much to do with the servant elves or the Dalish or any elves, really. Hence his feeling of not truly belonging to them."

“Bravo!” Dorian exclaimed, giving Varric a small round of applause who bowed as well as possible while seated. "Amazing. Pray, how do our lovers part? How come that he is now with us, or rather with our dear Inquisitor?"

Varric took some of the cheese and shrugged with a grin. He winked at Lyssa who found herself captured in his story.

"I'm still working on the details. But I daresay, tragedy struck, he had to leave - maybe she had to marry, and he couldn't stand by and watch. Maybe she died, tragically, maybe their affair was discovered, and he had to flee… who knows. Alone, he roamed the land for a few months or even years, trying to find his place, when BOOM - the Breach. And suddenly, a dashing young woman, a fellow mage and an elf nonetheless, stumbled into his life…"

"I would pay to read that," Dorian said around a mouthful of bread, gesturing towards Varric, and Lyssa looked at the dwarf, suddenly horrified.

"You're not really thinking about writing a book about this, are you?"

Varric muttered something unintelligible, but the twinkle in his eyes made Lyssa groan. He laughed. "Don't worry, Ember, I'll make you look amazing. In every way."

"I'm not sure that really puts my mind at ease," she murmured when Dorian refilled her glass.

"Listen, Lyssa, beside the fact how outrageous that story is and how much of it is completely unfunded or unwillingly even true; there is only one thing you have to think about," Dorian said, suddenly very earnest. She looked at him curiously.

After a deliberate, heavy pause, he asked, "Does it matter?"

She tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"Does it really matter?” he repeated, a softness in his eyes that he rarely allowed himself to show. “For how you feel about him, I mean? It is obvious there is something in his past he does not tell you or anyone, really. Only a fool believes the story of the lonely wandering apostate. But does it matter? Does it change the person he is now, the things he does, the person you obviously love?"

Lyssa didn't answer immediately and stared into the flames crackling in the fireplace. Did it matter? The fact that he lied bothered her, that much was clear, but as far as she could tell, he hadn't lied to her about anything he did or thought at the moment. Maybe it was something about his past that still bothered him and of which he thought it would affect her. But when he said he loved her, he meant it, all the way. That was something she didn’t doubt for even a moment. And she loved him.

"No," she finally admitted.

"I think everyone is entitled to a few secrets," Dorian said quietly, and for once, there was no mischief at all to be found in either his face or his voice. She looked at him, the last of her worry easing from her face and reached for his hand. He gave it a quick squeeze, then Varric cleared his throat.

"Alright, enough with the emotional stuff. What do you say to moving this to the tavern to make it an actual party?"

"And here I was, thinking you'd never suggest it!" Dorian leapt to his feet, downing his wine, then pulled Lyssa up. "Let's take the food and - ah, forget the food! More wine! I'd say it definitely is one of those nights, don't you agree?"

With a lot of laughter, they made their way downstairs. When they passed the rotunda, Lyssa paused, looking through the open door to Solas who was still sitting at his desk.

"I'll be right with you," she said to the two men and let them go on without her.

"That sounded like quite the party," Solas remarked as she came up to his desk, giving her a fond smile.

Lyssa ran her fingertips from his shoulder to his ear, smiling back as he reached to take her hand and placed a kiss in her palm. "I would love for you to join us if you are of a mind,” she said softly. There was tenderness in his eyes as he looked at her.

"I think I'll pass today. But you go ahead and have fun," he answered.

Lyssa hesitated for a second, then she came a bit closer, sitting down on his lap. His arms came around her, caressing her side, and he smiled as she snuggled closer with a little sigh. She touched his face lovingly, caressing his brow, ear, the jawline she loved so much, then she leaned forward and kissed him softly. Dorian was right. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. Not for the way he made her feel, or how he looked at her. There was just one thing she needed to know.

“Solas, do you really not see ourselves alike?” she asked softly as she drew back.

He stilled as he looked at her, considering her question. “What makes you say that?” he asked after a moment.

Lyssa frowned slightly. “The way you spoke about never having seen yourself as having much in common with elves.” Her fingers trailed over the rim of his ears in a tender caress, circling the tips before they came back to his face. “Is it because you haven’t grown up with the Dalish nor in an alienage?”

“I…” he started, but interrupted himself immediately again. Something in his eyes softened. “It bothered you that I said it,” he said. It wasn’t really a question, but she nodded anyway.

“Yes,” she confessed. “To me, it doesn’t matter if you grew up in an alienage or a clan or a human castle -“

“Human castle?” he interrupted, one eyebrow raising upwards, and a smile flickered over her face.

“Something Varric came up with. In any case, whatever you went through, it doesn’t change that, to me, you’re one of my people. You’ve always been. Hearing you, feeling you still distance yourself so deliberately from who I am, what I am… it hurts.”

“I am sorry, Lyssa,” Solas murmured. “I did not mean to hurt you.” He seemed to choose his words very carefully, his voice slow and deliberate as he spoke. “My experiences are so far removed from what your people have gone through that it is hard to feel as if I have a place there. I’ve always been… an outsider. In that way, Sera and I are not so different. Yet you are a part of -“ For a moment, he seemed to struggle with words, then he said, “a clan. The Dalish. A people that sets itself apart very deliberately, often shunning outsiders such as myself. So my position has always been,” he paused for a second before he said, “unique. It is not an easy thing to change what one has known to be true their whole lives.”

Lyssa had listened intently, now she took his face in both hands and gave him a smile. This was what she had suspected, and it made sense… but he was so very wrong. Her voice very quiet but with that melodic lilt she always got when she spoke in the Old Tongue, she said in elvhen, “You are wrong. We are the last of the elvhen, the last descendants of Arlathan. No matter where we grew up or how. You are and have always been of my people.” Her hand took his, pulling it against her heart. “Our people.”

Solas looked at her with a mix of wonder and sadness, his voice very quiet as he brushed a lock of hair from her face. “Ah vhenan,” he breathed, and for a second she thought he would add something, but then he only pulled her in for another kiss that was somehow sad and passionate at the same time.

But just before she was about to lose herself in his touch, she drew back. She should say it all, now, before it got buried under their touches and kisses.

"One other thing," she added when she leaned back, searching his eyes. "I know you lied about having been at court before."

There was a sudden rigidness to his body she hadn't expected, and his eyes got a guarded look, but as he started to answer, she shook her head. "Don't deny it, I saw it. But I want you to know - I don't care."

Slowly, he relaxed the tiniest bit, his eyes intent as he watched her. Her voice was soft as she said, "Whatever it is in your past you don't want me to know, it's alright. You do not have to tell me if you aren't ready or don't want me to know. Just - don't lie to me. Tell me you don't want to talk about it and I will not ask more about it. Say you can’t tell me, and I’ll be content. But don’t evade or lie. Please.” She looked at him with emotion, emphasizing every word. “I love you. You. Now. Whatever shaped who you are now, I accept it because it made you the person you are, the person I love. Nothing will change that."

As she talked, his hands had come around her more tightly as if he never wanted to let go of her. Now he looked at her as if he saw her for the first time, wonder and love in his eyes at her complete acceptance. For a long moment, he did not say anything, then one of his hands came to the back of her neck, pulling her in for another kiss. It was warm and intense, and he took his time, as if nothing mattered but her lips, her kiss.

When they parted, Lyssa felt slightly flushed, her eyes bright.

"I love you,” Solas said, his eyes burning into hers. “Please believe me that this is a truth that will never change.”

“I know,” she smiled. “That is the part I never doubted.”

He smiled, relief in his features. “I am sorry to have caused you pain. I will bear your words in mind, vhenan.”

Lyssa nodded, then she tilted her head, a mischievous glint coming to her eyes. “Do you want to know what story Varric came up with to explain… well, you? Human castle, forbidden love affair, court intrigue?”

Solas blinked once in surprise, then he laughed. “Forbidden love affair? I am intrigued. That I have to hear!”

Lyssa's face lit up, the last bit of worry from the day falling off her. "Oh, great! I’m sure Varric has come up with a few more details by now." She jumped up and pulled him up as well. He chuckled at her enthusiasm, but when she took a step towards him, one of her hands coming to his back and cupping him, he drew in a sharp breath. Her voice was close to his ear, lips brushing over his skin and his hand on her tightened as she murmured with a promise in her voice, "Don't expect to come back here tonight. Or to your own room, for that matter. I have to make sure you forget the last of that love affair after all."

Solas’ ears were red as he chuckled, and the sound was carefree and young as they went outside hand in hand.


	4. Summer Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised you there would be another chapter with painting... ;)

The evening in the Herald’s Rest soon proved to be one of the few respites Lyssa had after the masquerade. The mural in her room was nearly forgotten, no new herbs were added to her drying racks and her visits to the infirmary to help with what she did best - healing - dwindled down to nothing as she was swept away in the events and political implications of the growing power of the Inquisition.

More than once, Lyssa wished the events at Halamshiral had never taken place while she went over letters and missives with Josephine, discussed troop movements with Cullen to help calm the Orlesian civil war or was briefed by Leliana about the gossip, threats, and bribes which had arisen after Celene's death and her involvement. There were many nights in which she had been barely able to sleep. Either because there were so many meetings or because she was worried about death threats, spy reports, and more marriage proposals. They had started to come in as it had become clear just how much power and allies the Inquisition had begun to gain. Gaspard’s letters had a certain underlying tone to them that continued to put her on edge, and he had even invited her to a ‘private’ meeting in some chateau that she adamantly refused to attend.

Additionally, the University of Val Royeaux had asked Solas to join them on an expedition into some elven ruin. After Josie had talked in great length about what an honor this was and how it would further their goals, he had agreed to go while Lyssa went to Crestwood with Hawke. Solas was still gone when Lyssa came back to Skyhold, and she had barely time to update her advisors on the Wardens before she left again, this time for the Exalted Plains on Briala’s urging, both to bring something like peace to the still-raging battles there and strengthen the Inquisition’s stand.

As Lyssa fought her way through the Plains, laying undead to rest and closing rifts with Blackwall, Cassandra, and Varric at her side, Justinian gave way to Solace. The days grew shorter and hotter as they relayed the messages of the new emperor on Orlais’ throne to the fighters, the air over the ramparts sizzling in the heat of the summer and the fires where they burned the many bodies.

And within all the horrors, there was the Dalish clan, small and desolate among the ruins, their halla strewn across the plains. Meeting them reminded her of what she had left behind, of what she missed. And as she talked to Hawen, the Keeper of the clan, walked the old paths of Var Bellanaris to lay the spirits to rest and renew the wards, and searched the Halan’ghilan, she felt nearly at home.

Nearly.

Every time she looked up and saw the unmarked faces and round ears of her companions, she was reminded that this was no longer a part of her everyday life. Lyssa would have done all the things she did for the clan, every favor and task, without asking for anything in return, but when she spoke to the Keeper, it became clear that the clan saw this very differently. They demanded it. As proof that they could trust her. 

“You would not have trusted me without it?” she asked Hawen as he talked about how she had earned the help of the clan. She knew that the hurt and rejection showed clearly on her face, but for once she couldn't even try to hide the pain Hawen's words elicited. A bit more quietly, she added, “Even though I am of the People?”

Hawen just looked at her, straightening slightly. “You are. But you are also the Herald of Andraste.”

Lyssa started to answer, but then she thought better of it. He was right, and if she were in his place, she wouldn’t act differently. It didn’t matter that this title was given to her by the shemlen. Whether she wanted it or not, she was the figurehead of the Inquisition, of a human Chantry organization. No clan would just blindly trust the Inquisitor. On the contrary, doing so would be irresponsible.

“Ir abelas, hahren,” she said, hand on her heart. “You are right, of course, and I should not have asked.”

Something in Hawen’s eyes softened. “I am glad you understand, da’len.” 

She left with the promise of returning whenever they needed help, her heart heavy as they walked away.

The summer had come in full when Lyssa finally stood in Fort Revasan beneath the Inquisition’s banner, the sun burning down on her as she gave the cheering soldiers a practiced smile. Blood was still drying on her forehead and cheek, a remnant of the preceding fight against the demons spewing from a rift, and she could feel her legs tremble from exhaustion. These last few weeks had been more than draining. Her eyes went over the battlements to the soft hills of the Plains stretching before her, the banner hanging motionless in the windless heat. At the far horizon, she could vaguely discern what could be the ruins they had found close to the Dalish camp. A myriad of emotions ran through her at the thought, longing and grief and the sharp, ragged pain of homesickness ripping through her heart. For a second, she allowed herself to feel the pain, closing her eyes as she had to swallow the grief down. 

That was where she was supposed to be, protecting and helping, not here with human soldiers cheering for her. But if there was anything the encounter had showed her, then it was that she had been irrevocably changed by the Inquisition.

With a deep breath, she opened her eyes again, pushing the thoughts far away and looked back over the Fort before she nodded at the Commander, who immediately began dispersing the crowd. Slowly, she climbed down to where Blackwall, Varric, and Cassandra waited. The three of them looked just as exhausted as she felt.

“Let’s go home,” she said quietly.

They arrived in Skyhold three weeks later. The hot weather made for sore traveling, and they had to take a few days in between just to allow for some rest. When they finally saw Skyhold’s silhouette looming in the distance, golden and orange from the sinking sun, and only a few more hours away, a breath of relief went through them all.

“I know we’re all tired,” Lyssa said as they stopped for a moment to take the sight in, “but what do you say to just pushing through until we’re there instead of camping another night?”

Varric nodded instantly. “Good call, Ember,” he said. “If it means sleeping in a proper bed, I don’t mind traveling in the darkness for a few hours.”

Blackwall grunted his agreement.

“I’d say it doesn’t make that much of a difference,” Cassandra sighed, straightening in the saddle and giving her neck a little stretch. “But I must confess that the thought of a proper bed is enticing. Let’s do it.”

The stars stretched over Skyhold’s dark walls, silver dots in the velvety blackness of a moonless sky. The fluttering of the banners in the night breeze was the only sound that could be heard, torches on the battlements sending flickering lights over the bridge as they neared the keep.

“The gate is closed for the night,” a guard called down as the came to a stop. “Come back tomorrow!”

Without a fuss, Lyssa woke a mage light in her palm, illuminating their faces as it hovered between them.

“Not closed for the Inquisitor,” Cassandra called up, “Open up, and hurry.” 

Through the dulled calls audible from inside the keep, she grumbled, “I finally want to go to bed.”

Lyssa gave her a smile, and Varric chuckled. “You’re speaking for all of us, Seeker.”

Cullen was waiting for them inside as they made their way into the courtyard, his coat haphazardly thrown over his shoulders, his hair tousled. Clearly, he had been woken.

“Inquisitor,” he greeted her, taking the reins of her horse as she dismounted. “It’s good to have you back safe and sound. We already got word from the Plains that you’re on your way.”

She gave her Commander a tired smile. “Thank you, Cullen, but you shouldn’t have gotten up. There are no abnormalities to report, so, honestly, everything can wait until we’ve slept. And eaten. And slept again.”

Cullen chuckled, nodding to Blackwall and Cassandra as they went off towards their quarters with a quick ‘Goodnight’ as soldiers took their horses. “That bad?”

She hummed affirmatively. “Two months of traveling and fighting do that to a person.”

“If you want my advice, Curly, and I know you always do,” Varric interjected, ignoring Cullen’s scoff that was half-amused, “Give her a week off before you throw her back into the fray. She could use the time.”

“Thanks, Varric, but I’m standing right here, you know that?” Lyssa said with a smile on her face. Varric just raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

“Would you have asked for a week off? Didn’t think so.” He gave her a wink. “You heroes never take time for yourself. It was the same with Hawke. You should know that, Curly.” He pointed a finger at Cullen who sighed.

“Believe me, Varric, I’m very aware of it. I still can’t give you a week, I’m afraid,” he said apologetically.

Lyssa just shook her head. “I didn’t ask for it. I know we have to plan for the Western Approach.” There was an edge to her voice, and she took a deep breath. “Tomorrow though?” she asked, and Cullen nodded.

“We can do that.”

Varric harrumphed. “It’s the least you can do if you ask me.”

Lyssa grinned as Cullen rolled his eyes. Before the two old friends could start to bicker, she said, “Then I’ll see you the day after tomorrow. Goodnight, you two. And thank you. Both of you.” She gave them another smile, then she took her bag and walked up towards the main building.

A few minutes later, she knocked carefully on Solas’ door. The rotunda had been dark and empty, but the thought of going to her equally dark and empty room was not one she could bear. It was only when she didn’t get an answer that she realized she hadn’t asked Cullen whether Solas was even back again as well. Her heart sank. The expedition leader hadn’t been able to tell them how long the whole endeavor would take, but they hadn’t seen each other in nearly three months, and she missed him more than she could say.

The room behind the closed door stayed quiet, and no light could be seen beneath it. Lyssa put a hand on the dark wood, the ward shimmering slightly beneath her palm, and hung her head with a tired sigh before she turned to leave. It was only now that she realized just how much the thought of seeing Solas again upon her return had kept her going on the long journey back.

She hadn’t taken more than two steps when the door behind her opened with a slight creak.

“Lyssa?”

She whirled around. There was disbelief in Solas’ sleepy voice, and for a second, all she could do was stare at him. Then, her face lit up with wild joy, and in the next moment, she was in his arms. “You’re here!” she said against his neck, choking up on the words as a weight fell from her heart, tears pricking in the corner of her eyes. “I thought you were still gone!”

Solas drew her close. “Vhenan,” he whispered into her hair as his arms tightened around her. “You’re back.”

Their kiss was soft at first, a tender welcome back, warmth and tenderness that quickly grew into heat. Not letting go of each other, they stumbled back into his room, Lyssa’s staff and bag tumbling disregarded to the ground. Lyssa heard the sound of the door falling shut again, felt the faint tingle of magic as Solas reactivated the wards with a gesture, but she barely paid it any attention. Impatiently, she pulled off her coat and tugged at the laces and buckles of her armor. She could feel Solas’ smile against her lips, then his hands were on hers, pulling them off to take over the task.

She let him undress her only too willingly, her hands finding their way beneath the tunic he wore for sleeping. Her fingers splayed out over his back, caressing upwards over the faint scars that spoke of past battles until she could pull it over his head. Her leather armor fell to the ground soon after as her lips found his again with a murmur of his name. He answered her eagerness in kind, and soon, her belt followed the armor, and Solas’ hands roamed over her bare back beneath her tunic. It was only when she drew in a sharp breath that he stopped.

“What’s this?” he murmured, his fingers carefully touching the not yet fully healed wound on her back.

Lyssa barely listened, her lips wandering over Solas’ neck. “Terror demon,” she mumbled against his skin, her eyes closed, but before she could lose herself in his touch again, Solas’ hands came to her shoulders and held her at a careful distance.

“Let me see,” he said, raising an unrelenting eyebrow as she sighed. Lyssa turned around so he could pull up her tunic to see the injury on her back. This time, it was he who drew in a sharp breath. For a second, his fingers touched the sensitive skin where the demon had slashed its claws over her back, then he urged her softly towards the bed.

“Who healed that?” he asked and settled behind her as she sat down with her back to him. The disapproval was clear in his voice. Already, she could feel the soothing touch of his magic flow from his hands and over her skin, sending goosebumps over her body.

“One of the human healers,” she explained, letting her head sink forward as the familiar tingling that his touch and magic elicited made her shiver. “I don’t blame him,” she continued, closing her eyes under his hands. “It was the middle of a fight, and we were in a hurry.”

“He should have been more careful,” Solas insisted, a little growl to his voice that elicited a smile from her. She looked back over her shoulder to him. He had a frown on his face, illuminated by the glow of his magic as he concentrated on healing her. A wave of emotions went through her as she watched him, warmth and love, tenderness, and something so profound that it took her breath away. Only now did she realize just how lost she had felt ever since the Exalted Plains, since she had felt the distance between herself and the Dalish clan. Ever since she had realized that there was something that would forever set her apart. That by gaining all that she had gained in the Inquisition, she had also irrevocably lost something. And yet, as she looked at Solas, something of the pain eased and she knew that with him at her side, she at least was not alone.

“I missed you,” she said, and he looked up, meeting her eyes.

“I missed you, too,” he answered in a low voice, his eyes softening as he looked at her.

Lyssa smiled, and despite his mumbled protest, she turned around so she could face him, laying both arms around his neck. She looked at him softly, her fingertips wandering over his face. “When we finally could, I said ‘let’s go home’,” she told him, “But I now realize that I didn’t mean Skyhold. I meant you. Ma’vhenan.”

Her lips brushed over his, once, twice, teasing at a kiss that was yet to come, until he caught her mouth with his and kissed her deeply until they lost themselves in each other.

For a few weeks, Lyssa was happy to stay in Skyhold, spending the days in the war room and her nights in Solas’ arms. She left the smaller tasks to her companions or the Chargers while she and her advisors planned what to do with the Western Approach. Once more intel came in, and it was clear that she would need to clear the way for their army and take care of the rifts, they started to plan for the task of supplying and moving an army. She would leave with the start of autumn.

It felt like the heat from the Exalted Plains had followed them up the mountains, settling like a blanket over Skyhold as August deepened.

"Lyssa?"

"I'm up here."

She didn't need to look down the balustrade to know that Solas had come up the stairs, probably a bunch of books in his hand as most evenings. It was later than usual, but she couldn't really blame him. It had been an unusually hot day, especially since they were so high up in the mountains. She was pretty sure that most of Skyhold were still awake, unable to sleep in the heat. The doors to the balcony were wide open, letting in as much of the cool night air as possible, causing the candles that surrounded her to flicker. She hadn't even tried to go to sleep but undressed as far as possible and comfortable, and gotten back to her mural which had been abandoned for far too long as more important duties had taken up most of her time.

Her long hair was open for once, swept over her shoulder so that the candlelight drew patterns of warmth and shadows on her naked skin. She was only wearing a loose skirt with long slits that left her legs free, the lights flickering over her skin. She had her lower lip between her teeth and narrowed her eyes in concentration at the painting as she dipped the brush into the paint and added another layer to her mural. She was still far from finished; she knew as her eyes flickered over the stylized hills and forests beneath a starry sky.

"What if someone came up here and saw you like that?" she heard Solas' voice next to her as he joined her on the balustrade and knelt down behind her, his fingertips trailing from her waist up to her shoulder. His voice was amused, but there was a touch of something else in it that made her skin tingle.

"Ah, arasha. Nobody comes here this time of night but you. And it really is too hot to wear anything more," she said with a smile, a soft lilt to her voice she always had when she was brought out of concentration.

"It's not that I want to complain, really," he murmured, kissing her shoulder softly.

"Mhh," she purred at his touch, leaning back against him for a moment as his hands came around her, caressing her stomach. He wasn't wearing a shirt either, she realized, but the thought was gone in an instant as she leaned forward again, correcting a brushstroke she had just made.

"I can't seem to get that perspective right," she sighed, dipping the brush into the white paint to add another layer to the halla she had been working on.

"Here, let me show you," Solas murmured into her ear. He rearranged himself behind her so that his legs were framing hers and her back was touching his stomach. His hot breath tickled her cheek, and she smiled as he snuggled against her after trailing kisses on her ear and neck. His arms came around her, touching the side of her breasts as if by accident. Despite the heat, she had goosebumps as he pulled her close against him, one hand trailing down her arm until he laid his fingers over her hand. But instead of just painting over her work, he softly guided her brush across the stones, correcting the angle of the halla's head. Lyssa carefully watched the way a few strokes changed the angle of halla, but it got increasingly hard to concentrate as she suddenly realized his other hand nearing the waistband of her skirt. The muscles in her belly contracted as his featherlike touch danced over them, and then his fingers wandered beneath the fabric just as he took her earlobe between his teeth. Her breath caught in her throat, and a small noise escaped her when he parted her legs to caress the soft inside of her thigh.

"Trouble concentrating, vhenan?" he asked, mischief in his voice as the brush trembled in her hand, kissing the skin beneath her ear and she huffed a breathless laugh, a sound that quickly turned into a gasp as his fingers wandered into the apex of her legs to find the moisture gathering there.

"I… no, why?" she said breathlessly and felt laughter rumble in his chest as she put the brush back on the stone with determination. His fingers left her painting hand and cupped her breast as his other hand started to stroke her softly, teasingly. She closed her eyes for a second to catch her breath that somehow seemed to get stuck in her throat when he kissed her neck. Without noticing, she matched her brush strokes with the rhythm of his hand, sinking slightly back against him when his fingers started to move more quickly. She managed to give the halla's back the perfect curve and even started on another one, despite her eyes continuously losing focus as the heat built up within her.

"You should try to add a touch of yellow to the edge of the back to give it more substance," he said, closing thumb and index finger around her nipple, pressing it softly, and she bit her lip.

"Mhm," she managed to get out, dipping the brush into the yellow paint, and she felt him smile against her skin just before his tongue darted over the tip of her ear, eliciting a sighed "Oh.” His lips wandered over the curve of her neck, softly biting her earlobe, and she started to move her hips, urging him on. One, then two fingers darted inside of her and with a soft clatter, the brush fell down, and she pressed her hand against the wet wall with a moan.

"You ruined it," he chastised her softly, with laughter in his voice, but he kept speeding up the rhythm, and Lyssa couldn't seem to care. Her other hand was cramped into the fabric of her skirt which pooled around her, and when his thumb came back to press against the hard nub in her center, she came, barely keeping from crying out loud as her whole body shuddered.

He placed soft kisses on her back and shoulders when she sank back against him, trying to catch her breath. She could feel his arousal pressing against her through his pants, hard and ready, and when she finally turned to face him, there was a glint in his eyes as he smiled at her. Her breathing was still accelerated and paint from her hand smeared across his bare skin as her hands wandered across his chest as she straddled him. Her lips brushed against his as she rubbed herself against him, eliciting a deep moan from him, then she kissed him deeply, her tongue dancing with his.

"I know I ruined it," she murmured between kisses, and this time, it was her that smiled mischievously as she pushed at him until he lay on his back. "I guess I still have some practicing to do."

"Lyssa…" he moaned, grabbing her hips as she continued to softly and very slowly rub against the bulge in his pants, but she put a finger against his lips and shook her head, taking up a brush with her other hand. She smiled down on him, taking up some paint, and with soft, caressing strokes she started to decorate his body.

The brush danced over his skin, drawing circles and patterns, at times barely touching him, following the lines of his muscles and scars that zigzagged over them. She placed kisses and nibbles, brushing them over with elven runes and dedications, enchantments and meaningless designs, slowly working her way downwards, never stopping to rock herself against him as long as it was possible. When she finally reached the edge of his pants, he shuddered beneath every brushstroke, never taking his eyes off her. She grinned at him before pulling them down, and a guttural moan escaped him as she took him into her mouth, running her tongue along his length.

She felt his hand in her hair as she closed her lips around him, and his hips bucked beneath her hands, trying to move more quickly. She held him down, taking her time, but the way he started to tremble beneath her showed her that he already was very close. One hand at his shaft, she licked across his tip before she closed her lips around him again and let him move freely, matching his desperate thrusts until his rhythm stumbled. His hand in her hair tightened, and with a strangled outcry, he spilled himself into her throat with a few erratic thrusts.

She expected him to sink back to catch his breath, but she had barely straightened when he surprised her by sitting up and pulling her up to him. His mouth was hard as he kissed her, one hand still in her hair, the other one wandering to the small of her back, pressing her against him. Her heart fluttered in excitement, her senses lulled in by the heat and his touches, her body melting into his as they laid down. She only realized what he did when she felt the floor against her back, his body moving against hers and the skirt sliding off her. There was something powerful and demanding in him as he looked down at her, his gaze sending a wave of heat over her skin.

"Solas?" she whispered, a tingle in her stomach as she saw something in him she hadn't seen before, and he paused.

“I want to try something,” he said and flashed a smile that immediately transformed the tingle into excitement. “May I?”

Lyssa bit her lip in heated anticipation and nodded. “Of course.”

Solas didn't say anything else as he grabbed the brush, but his smile took her breath away. She could feel his magic rising in the air around them as he started writing on her body. She could make out single words in his whispers, but very soon, they didn't matter as the drawings seem to burn on her skin, leaving warm, tingling traces that gathered deep within her. A soft glow started to appear within the paint, on both of their bodies, and she could feel the anchor titillate in her palm, sparks dissipating in the air as she suddenly recognized the upwelling of magic within herself even as she felt her desire build up in a way she barely understood. Solas' brush danced over her skin, and every now and then, she saw his eyes flashing. When he reached her legs and even started to cover the inside of her thighs with patterns, she nearly squirmed under his touch, arching her back towards him, her breath coming in short bursts.

"Please," she moaned, not knowing what exactly she was begging for - for him to just continue touching her or to finally give himself to her. Just when she thought she wouldn't be able to bear him only touching her with a brush, he was leaning over her again, interlacing his fingers with hers and locking his eyes with hers as he drew them up and above her head. She gasped as a surge of power went through her, recognizing the essence and taste of his magic rushing through her, and she realized he had somehow connected them as if to make their bodies just one.

"Isalan hima sa i’na, ma vhenan," he whispered and kissed her, pressing his lips on hers with an urgency like never before, and she answered in kind. She wrapped her legs around his hips as he lined up his body with hers, and he entered her with a swift motion, driving himself deep into her. Lyssa threw back her head, crying out in ecstasy as she seemed to feel his touch with more than her body, and had she been able to use her hands, she would have scratched across his back, but he still held her wrists above her head. All she could do was match his rhythm as she lifted herself to meet him. He was groaning against her neck, moving with grace and power, and before Lyssa even realized she was nearing her release, she felt like she exploded around him, and then she was building up again as he relentlessly thrust inside her. She bit into his shoulder to suppress a moan that was more like a sob, and suddenly, her hands were free as Solas slowly lost control.

Coming up onto his knees with a shaking breath, he angled her hips so he could intensify and deepen his thrusts. Lyssa grabbed the railing to be able to meet his thrusts with more friction, incoherent sounds coming from her throat as she arched her back. She felt the magic crackling between them, and without thinking, she threw her hand out to him, sparks dancing on her fingertips. Solas grabbed her hand, the flow of magic running over his skin, and he groaned from deep within, throwing his head back, quickening his pace. With urgency, she pulled him down again, unable to endure even a breath of air between them, clasping her arms around him. She no longer knew where she ended and he began, magic and lust filling her very being, and the air around them felt charged from it. There were words on her breath she barely noticed saying, and her nails bit into his skin as she flew over the edge once more. Nearly at the same time, Solas spilled himself deep within her. Pleasure rolled through her like a wave, and the candles around them flared and died as a rush of power went through them.

She held him close as he sank down on top of her, taking his weight, softly stroking him as their breathing slowly calmed down. When Lyssa felt like she had control of her voice again, she asked with awe, "What was that?"

Solas chuckled softly. "A very old… ritual you could call it." Lifting himself on his elbows and taking his weight off her, he carefully brushed some hairs from her forehead. "I'm sorry if it surprised you," he said.

Lyssa still felt like her body was covered with sparks, and every now and then, she shuddered with the warmth of pleasure. She brushed her thumb across his lips and slowly shook her head with a soft smile. "Don't be sorry. That was amazing. You built a… bridge so that our magic circulated between us?"

His eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Something like that. I intentionally weakened the Veil, just enough that the walls between body, spirit, and magic got permeable, thus also making our connection more intense."

Lyssa laughed quietly. "Intense indeed."

For a moment, she was quiet, watching his face, trailing her fingertips over the familiar lines and dimples, a smile playing in the corner of her lips. "I felt your power," she finally murmured. "I could taste it on my tongue, feel it vibrating in every fiber of my body. I can still feel it when I concentrate." She moved slightly, and her eyes widened as she felt him still hard within herself.

A wolfish, teasing smile was on his face as he slowly rocked himself against her, and she gasped at the wave of lust running through her. "There are many advantages to this," he said with a tease to his voice, moving very deliberate and slow.

She closed her eyes when his lips brushed over her neck. "You hold back so much, so much of your true power," she said, biting her lip with a whimper as he deepened the strokes.

"It's only natural not to show the extent of one's power as an apostate." She felt his voice resonate deep within her and answered with an only slightly suppressed moan. "And you don't give yourself enough credit," he continued and his fingers interlaced with hers, pushing her arms over her head again. "You are more powerful than you think."

From where their palms met, she could feel their magic touch and surge across their bodies, and then he was kissing her intensely, and she answered in kind, the borders between them disappearing in a searing swirl of magic and passion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arasha - my happiness
> 
> Isalan hima sa i’na, ma vhenan - I desire to become one with you, my heart


	5. Fire Dance

He found her at her work desk when he came to her after a long day, her face buried in her hands. At first, Solas thought she was just tired; then he saw the telltale tremors going through her shoulders that told him she was crying.

“Lyssa?”

He put the books he had in his hands aside, hurrying over to her. Lyssa already looked up, wiping her cheeks.

“I’m alright,” she said softly, her eyes shining with unshed tears. But there was a smile on her face, even if she looked somewhat shaken. Now, Solas saw the letter lying on her desk, intricate letters intertwined with the symbols he knew from the occasions where he had seen Lyssa leave messages at Dalish drop points. Understanding went through him. How often had she spoken in hushed whispers full of longing of her clan and told him of their travels? Every time they were on the road, he saw her working on some piece of clothing, embroidering her clan’s traditional patterns and symbols, a wordless testament of how much she missed them.

“A message from home?” he asked as she stood up to nuzzle her face at his shoulder. His arms came around her, holding her close, and he kissed her hair as he felt her relax against him. Not for the first time, he wondered just how right it felt to hold her, and his arms tightened around her.

Lyssa nodded in answer, just to shake her head. “In a way,” she said, smiling up at him, the last tears dried off her cheeks. “Not from my clan, but from the one in the _ Dirthavaren_. It seems that Loranil spoke well of…” She hesitated for just half a second before she said, “the Inquisition,” but Solas caught her actual meaning. _ Of her_. She had tried to bury the hurt of being rejected by the clan, but every time she had spoken of what had happened, the pain had been so plain on her expressive face that Solas couldn’t help but be angry at the Dalish. He knew that Lyssa didn’t blame the Keeper for how he had reacted to her - and the part in him that had once led a rebellion couldn’t exactly fault him, either - but that didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt her.

Before he could lose himself in his thoughts, though, Lyssa continued. “It seems, Hawen has changed his mind about me,” she said, and now he could detect a hint of excitement in her. “He has invited me to partake in the equinox celebration.” She took his hand, a pleading look coming to her eyes. “Will you join me? We will pass the Plains anyway on our way to the Western Approach, and the delay will be minimal. I know you are not familiar with our traditions, nor do you believe in the Evanuris, but please, will you come with me? You will not have to participate, I promise.”

For a moment, Solas didn’t know what to say, taken aback by the request, and a frown appeared on his face. _ He _was expected to attend a celebration honoring the Evanuris? An ancient rage flickered up in him, but he quickly extinguished it again before it could rise to the surface. He didn’t even know who this equinox celebration was supposed to honor.

“I…” he started hesitantly, but Lyssa pressed her lips to the knuckles of his hand. When she looked up at him with that plea in her eyes again, it did the weirdest things to him, sending a shiver of warmth through him. His heart softened.

“Please, Solas. I just want you there with me,” she said, a little smile in the corner of her lips as she saw his resistance waver already.

A sigh escaped him as she drew him over towards the bed.

“What kind of celebration is this?” he asked warily, settling down against the headboard, and she climbed onto his lap, straddling him. Her hands wandered over his arms and shoulders as she answered, “It’s a celebration of balance. The autumn equinox, when sun and moon, day and night, light and darkness are equal.” Lyssa wrapped her arms around his neck and placed feather-light kisses along his jaw, falling into elvhen as she spoke softly, “‘For out of the earth’s tears, Mythal came forth and walked to Elgar’nan, placing her hand upon his brow, and at her touch, he grew calm.’ It is a time of joy more than reverence.”

Despite his simmering unease at the prospect of attending a celebration honoring the false gods, Solas was not immune to Lyssa’s touch. The shiver of warmth slowly grew into streaks of heat running southwards as she moved atop of him. He was very aware of what she was trying to do, but it did not help his waning resistance in the least. As she brushed her lips over his, he caught her by the shoulders, holding her before she could deepen the kiss.

“Vhenan, are you trying to seduce me to join a Dalish celebration of your gods?” he asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

Her cheeks flushed, but her eyes were light with both amusement and a promise that took his breath away. She smiled. “Is it working?” she teased, letting out a little squeal that turned into a breathless laugh as he tightened his hands on her shoulders to lift her off him to turn with her so that she lay on her back.

For a moment, he just looked down at her, noting the happy shimmer in her eyes. It was the first time in weeks that he had seen her speak about anything Dalish with nothing but joy. And as she laughed up at him, he knew that he would not deny her this. Could not deny her this. His attendance was not hard to give, especially not in exchange for the way she looked at him now.

Her hands had found their way beneath his tunic, soft touches on his bare skin, and her smile widened as she felt him react to her. Solas let go of the last semblance of withstanding her and smiled back. “Keep doing that, and it just might,” he said and kissed her.

* * *

A few weeks later, he found himself sitting at the edge of the circle surrounding the fire, next to the companions who had accompanied them on the scouting trip to the Western Approach and who had been graciously allowed to attend as well. They all agreed that watching Lyssa’s joyful anticipation all during the trip here had been beautiful. It was rare that she was this carefree and full of stories. Despite Lyssa’s eagerness, though, her advisors hadn’t wanted her to go. Josephine had protested at the short notice, and how they had other, more important meetings and tasks, Cullen and Leliana had spoken about the importance of a swift mission, and how they should not delay, not even by a day, certainly not by a week that the trip out of the way would cost them.

"No," Lyssa had just said, for once using the full authority that the role of inquisitor granted her. "This is not up for debate. I will be in the Exalted Plains for the week. You will reschedule." And that had been that.

The stars had become ever brighter in the night sky as the moon had dropped below the horizon, and the sparks dancing up towards them added their own magic to the night. The bonfire was huge and spiced with herbs and aromatic wood. Bowls with water and scented oils had been placed next to it and added their scents, making the air heavy and enchanting. The drums beat relentlessly, giving the single voice rising up to the skies heaviness and mystery, and as Lyssa slowly raised her arms, magic crackled in her fingertips. Her feet joined the rhythm of the drums, and then she was moving. Turning and swirling around the fire she danced, slowly at first, then faster and faster, her magic trailing in long streaks behind and around her as she moved her hands in old patterns. Swirling through the darkness, the stories began to unfold themselves, written in golden light. Another drum joined and another, then a second singer added his voice to the first, matching her dance and his magic interlaced with hers, making the fire blaze up even more, blue and green sparks joining the white and red ones. Feet and drums beat faster and faster. The dancers met and parted again, foreheads and fingers touching, eyes meeting and looking away, their dance a tease and a promise. The colors of the magic coalesced until it was pure white, rising up far up, bursting into a rain of stars.

A sudden silence and the two stood still, the images fading away into the night.

Lyssa had told them what to expect and what an honor it was that the role of first dancer had been offered to her - something normally reserved for the First of the clan who would weave the clan's history into the dance, and thus not easily given to outsiders. It was a testament to how she had managed to win the trust of the clan that they would invite her, the head of the Andrastian Inquisition. But despite her stories and explanations, seeing it first hand was still something else. Solas was unable to take his eyes off her face which seemed illuminated from within. Her eyes were sparkling with joy, and her breath was fast and heavy, matching the shimmer of sweat on her skin. Her hair was loose for once, falling in waves over her shoulders and back, a lock or two clinging to her skin. She was wearing a traditional dress which showed more skin than everything else she normally wore, and it was tailored quite masterfully to add to the effect of her dance, mirroring and lengthening the trails of magic she had painted into the night. There was happiness in the way her lips curved in a perpetual smile, a happiness that made his heart ache with the need to see her always like this. He had only seen it before in the way she looked at him. 

On any other day, he was reluctant to acknowledge anything the Dalish did, their customs and rites a weak echo of grand rituals of the past, nearly devoid of meaning, and crippled so much that barely anything was left of the original intent. But tonight, on the equinox, with Lyssa in the role of First and the air filled with magic and scents, he nearly felt thrown back in time. Solas could feel the spirits gathering beyond the Veil and knew that they would've joined the dance if they could have, but somehow, the thought of them just watching did not wake the usual grief.

It was nearly unnoticeable when the drum started again, slowly, quietly, building up until with another blaze of the fire, all drums joined as one, and the two lead dancers were moving again. One by one, the other Dalish joined them, all who were able, holding hands, and matching their steps. Hands clapped to the rhythm or were turned towards the skies, smiles were shared and cries of joy and celebration. There was no magic this time other than the magic of the dance which raised a cone of energy that made the air crackle. The song had been taken up by many of those staying at the side, adding to the atmosphere and cheering the dancers on.

And suddenly, she was before him, breathless, offering him her hand and without thinking, he took it. He hadn't recognized the dance, but now that she led him through the steps, he realized he did know them after all. It was an ancient dance. Some turns and figures were missing, others were crooked or taken in the wrong direction, but it was recognizable once he saw the pattern. And suddenly, it did no longer matter that they had dedicated it to Mythal and Elgar'nan, for its original meaning went beyond the Evanuris' rise, celebrating life itself in its purest meaning. But even that wasn't really important. The only thing of importance was the way she laughed at him in delight when he dared to take the lead, and how she reveled in the dance. This was nothing like the evening in Halamshiral, with its stilted, formal movements that she had performed out of duty, concentration on her face, and with nothing of the joy of this night in her eyes. This was different. She was so deeply in the moment that it was hard to believe the night would ever end. This was full of power and energy and promises. She felt at home, both in her clothes and in her surroundings, and Solas felt like he only now perceived her fully.

It made him fall in love with her once again in a way he hadn't anticipated.

He tread on dangerous ground, he knew, but when she smiled her breathless, happy smile at him, nothing mattered but the feel of her arms around his neck as their feet stamped and twirled, and the look she gave him. The night wore on, even as the dance ended.

Solas found himself in the midst of a crowd, children and adults alike hanging at his lips as he told stories of old - from “his travels into the Fade,” of dreams and spirits he had encountered, of old truths, and of events that were remembered in the old elven ruins. He was called hahren and earned smiles and respect, and discussed magic and theories with their Keeper while Lyssa reunited with acquaintances from the last Arlathven. It was a night of joy and wonders, and when he brought her something to drink, and she laughingly introduced him to the clan's First - the second dancer - he suddenly realized that this could be their life together.

He grew still in the midst of the crowd, looking around, taking it in. The bonfire had shrunken but still managed to illuminate the colorful aravels and cloths which formed the camp and making the white fur of the halla glow. The elves gathered, laughing and talking and flirting and living, sharing plates of food. Lyssa next to him, talking to her friend and absentmindedly but tenderly running her hand over his back. Children running around or already asleep in their parents' arms or on furs and blankets, one or two snuggled against halla. A lingering of faint magic in the air, enhanced by the scents of the oils and the fire. For a few endless moments, he could imagine one of the aravels being theirs, and their sole purpose to collect wisdom and knowledge, to heal and to protect, without the burdens placed on them. He could slowly make them understand, let them know what happened. And for a long moment, desire for this life made his heart clench, and it was hard to breathe.

He stood up abruptly and left the camp, wandering into the night until the light of the fire lost itself on the planes. His eyes turned towards the place where his friend had died, forced into a reality it had had no interest in, doing horrible things it hadn't wanted to do, corrupted by the touch of this world. His throat closed.

'I take my commitments seriously, Seeker. Come what may, I shall see this through,' he had said to Cassandra over a year ago, and even though she had been talking about the Breach, the same was true for his original plan. He would see it through.

He had to.

And yet...

Solas turned away from where Wisdom had died, closing his eyes against the sudden pain inside him. Surely, there was still time left. Some moments of happiness, of love that he could allow himself. There had to be something left. Lyssa would be gone soon enough. There were nights when he stayed awake watching her, tracing her face with his fingers, or drawing her, etching every line of hers into his memory. The light freckles across her nose, the curve of her lips, the soft lines around her eyes that were still so light, but that he knew would become more pronounced with every year, every decade. Sometimes, when he kissed her, he felt like he could taste the memory of immortality inside her, as if it would only take a nudge to remind her body that this decay wasn‘t how it was supposed to be.

He had known from the beginning that she was mortal, and yet, when she smiled at him, it was too easy to forget. There were whole days, whole weeks at times when he didn‘t think about it, when he could just _be_ with her. Nights and touches that nearly felt normal, not like the flickering, hurried, vanishing moments that they were. He had spent lifetimes exploring the bodies of some of his lovers, but he knew that he did not have that kind of time with Lyssa: That every rise and fall of the sun marked another step down the road that would lead to a decision that would break them apart.

When he had woken first, he had taken weeks to grasp just how fleeting this mortal world now was. _ The Quickening _the Dalish had named the loss of immortality, and maybe once upon a time, they had even understood just how fitting the name was. He had known it, seen it, _felt _it even in uthenera, but experiencing it in the waking world had been challenging despite that. And yet… that moment when she had first smiled at him still seemed to echo in his heart, across the many days and months. Deep in his heart, he had known he was lost even then.

“Solas.“ Her voice was soft behind him, caressing over him as she said his name - his _name_, not his title. A touch followed, as he knew it would, just as soft as her voice, and she stepped around him, searching his face, worry in her features. “Are you alright?“ she asked, and the warmth and love in her eyes sent a shiver down his back. How incredible to find such endless and unhindered emotion in one person, he wondered not for the first time.

Soft fingers interlaced with his, and he closed his eyes, schooling his face as he felt the familiar and treasured touch. Her lips touched his neck, and when her hand came to his cheek, he tilted his head towards her until their foreheads met.

Without answering, he put his arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace, inhaling her scent, feeling her warmth. How could he give this up? She held him close, his rock of life and hope in a world he sometimes had trouble understanding. For a long time, they just stood there, holding each other, until she loosened the embrace to look up at him.

"What is it?" she asked again, and not for the first time, he was tempted to just tell her. Tell her everything. To share the burden, the decisions. But as his eyes fell on the vallaslin on her face, the slave markings devoting her to Sylaise which she bore with such pride and without the knowledge of their true meaning, his heart sank. Telling her might not only rob him of her love, but it would rob her of everything she chose to believe in. Of a history that made her proud, that had given her meaning and a hold in a world that rejected her.

_ One day_, he swore to himself. One day, she deserved the truth about just how wrong that history was. About how misplaced her love for him. His heart clenched at the thought, but he steeled himself, taking a breath. Not today, though. Not on a day that she treasured.

They still had time.

"Solas?" Concern was in her voice and puzzlement in the way she looked at him, shaking him out of his thoughts.

"I was just thinking about my friend who died here," he settled for a half-truth.

Lyssa's face fell, and she nodded, full of compassion.

"I told the Keeper about it, and they made offerings in its honor. It will live on in their stories," she told him softly.

Solas looked at her in wonder. "Truly?"

Lyssa nodded, and he smiled, albeit sadly. "Good," he said quietly. "It is a good way to remember it."

She studied his face for a long while in the way she so often did, before she asked, "Do you want to go back?"

Solas looked one last time towards the place where he had lost his friend, taking a deep breath, before he nodded, taking her hand, and they turned back towards the warm light.

Soon he would take up his burden again. Soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dirtharaven - the Exalted Plains


	6. Rain And Fire

They returned to Skyhold in late Harvestmere with enough intel to prepare their army’s approach on the fortress where the Wardens planned their big ritual. As always after such a prolonged absence, Lyssa had difficulties settling in for a few days. But this time, she felt nearly thrown back to the beginning of her time as Inquisitor in how misplaced she felt in the riches and ruckus of the Inquisition. The days spent with the Dalish had reminded her sharply of what she missed - but also of what she had already adopted as part of normal life. She no longer wondered at her mostly human companions, or at the little comforts that her status brought. When had she last flinched because someone had called her “your Worship”?

Sometimes, she wondered whether she had already been irrevocably changed by the Inquisition — whether she could ever return home to her clan and just become a part of them again.

But then, they had also been changed by her status. The events in Wycome, the threats they had faced, the fate that had danced on a knife’s edge for a moment until the Inquisition forces had come to their aid. Lyssa had never been more grateful that she had taken Cullen’s advice when he had shared her apprehension at the events in the Free Marches - maybe because he knew the Marches just as well. For now, the clan was safe in Wycome. More than that.

And yet...

“You are worrying, vhenan,” Solas murmured into her ear, shaking her out of her reverie. They sat in her room, huddled into some blankets at the window, rain splattering against it. Lyssa had been staring outside for quite some time, her back against his chest, her head leaning on his shoulder. Solas had been reading, one hand absentmindedly caressing her hand where he held it.

Lyssa hummed her affirmation, her eyes still set on the rivulets of water running down the glass, the dark grey clouds racing across the skies beyond it. “I was just thinking about home,” she said softly. “They would be on their way to the winter quarter by now if not for the business in Wycome. Now, they are within the city… and the Keeper is among those ruling it.”

There was a pause, another gush of wind splattering more rain against the glass. Solas put his book aside, pulling her closer against him. When she did not continue, he softly prompted, “So what is it that you are worrying about?”

His hands started to idly caress her side beneath the blanket, and a smile flickered over her face at the intimate touch. But it was gone as quickly as it had come as she answered, “I fear they will be betrayed. I already asked Deshanna to be careful, but I wonder whether I should do more. Whether I should ask them to leave.”

A soft kiss on her neck, followed by his voice against her skin. “Why?”

“I do not trust human rulers. Just look at Ferelden and what they did to the Hero’s family,” Lyssa said, fierceness in her voice. “They would have replaced me, too, at their earliest convenience, had I not this mark.”

Solas’ lips wandered over her skin, and his fingers closed over hers and the mark beneath. “So what would you have them do?” he asked. His continued caresses sent shivers of heat through her, and she sighed, trying to focus both on her thoughts and her body that responded eagerly to Solas’ hands.

“Stay over the winter, place as many resident elves as possible in the ruling council, then take those who want to come and leave Wycome,” she answered, closing her eyes at his touches. “The Inquisition will not always be there to protect the city, and the other Free Marchers will not take kindly to… to…”

Her voice trailed off as Solas’ cupped her breast at the same time that his lips found her earlobe. “What are you doing?” Lyssa asked a bit breathlessly, trying to ignore the warmth that started to collect in her belly at his ministrations. She could feel his smile against her skin.

“Distracting you,” Solas murmured, gathering the cloth of her shirt in his hand to pull it up. The blankets fell off them as he exposed her skin. Amidst kisses on her shoulder, he said, “Your worries are not without reason, and your advice is sound. But right now, there is nothing you can do but drive yourself crazy.” His hand had found its way to the bare skin beneath her clothes, and Lyssa found it increasingly difficult to focus as Solas stroked the underside of her breasts. “You have done all you can for your family, given them all the protection they can ask for.” His voice rumbled against her back. “Now you have to trust in their ability to read the signs and maneuver the political field in the Marches. And if your own conduct on this playground is any indication, they have taught you well and will stand their ground.”

The praise sent a warm shiver of relief through her, and she let out a breath as she relaxed into his embrace. She did trust in Deshanna and the others, and from the letters she had received from them, the Keeper had already garnered some respect.

For a moment, Solas paused in his caresses, and Lyssa opened her eyes to find him looking at her through the reflection in the window. “Even if there is trouble — believe me, vhenan, your power reaches far enough to protect them for quite some more time.”

She sighed, then nodded, a small smile forming on her lips. Solas was right, and Josephine had already said something similar. He smiled back, lowering his mouth onto her exposed shoulder. “So let me distract you from your worries,” he said softly.

For a moment, Lyssa just enjoyed the paths of heat his hands painted onto her skin; then she twisted in his arms so she could face him as she straddled him. The blankets lay forgotten behind her, and her hands wandered beneath his tunic as she said huskily, “Alright, arasha. But who gets to distract you?”

Solas moved to kiss her, but she drew back just far enough so his lips couldn’t reach her. Something hungry flashed in his eyes, and then one hand came into her hair, wrapping it around his fingers before he cupped the back of her head. “Believe me, vhenan, you are more of a distraction than you know,” he said, a roughness to his voice that sent a shiver over her. When he pulled her towards him this time, she no longer resisted, meeting his kiss with eagerness.

The rain provided a musical background as she entwined her arms behind his neck, opening her lips beneath his kiss. Unhurried despite the clear signs of his arousal against her, she explored his mouth, letting herself fall into the sensation of kissing him. Too often, they could not take their time with each other. Hurried embraces in the middle of the night when she found him in his quarters after a long day, or in the openness of a tent in the middle of camp when every sound had to be hidden or swallowed if they didn’t want to face the knowing grins of their companions the next day.

For tonight, though, they had all the time they wanted. Slow, soft touches as fingertips trailed over exposed skin, followed by lips that tasted of promises and desire. A shiver ran over Lyssa’s skin as Solas loosened the braids in her hair, letting the silken strands run through his fingers as he fanned them out over her shoulders and down her back. She pushed at his shoulder to make him lie back, trailing her breath across his skin, smiling as she felt his pulse pound beneath her lips.

His hands had settled on her hips, absentmindedly stroking the rise where her back met her buttocks, dipping beneath the hem of her leggings. His eyes were hooded as he watched her, for once content to let her take the initiative. A smile hovered in the corner of his lips that she kissed softly before capturing his bottom lip between hers. She gave it a careful tug before she deepened the kiss, every stroke of her tongue against his accentuated by a rock of her hips until he moaned deeply into the kiss. His grip on her hips tightened as she gave his lips a last tug, then pulled back.

For a moment, she hovered just out of reach, only her hands wandering over his face and down his throat to find his torso. Then she pulled his tunic up and over his head. She threw the garment to the side, quickly followed by her own.

Her name was a slight moan beneath his breath as he looked up at her, and she gave him a breathless smile before she shifted forward again to continue the trail of her lips and kisses from his mouth down over his body.

The air was heavy with their joint breath and little moans as she explored his torso, the tips of her breasts brushing over his skin as she kissed her way down his body. A low rumble was in his chest as she shifted her heat along his length, her own desire very apparent against him and he lifted his hips against her, coaxing a breathless moan from her lips. Her breath was hot against his skin as she swirled her tongue over his nipples, then lower. By the time she had reached the hem of his leggings, a quiver ran over his lower body, and Lyssa could feel him twitch against her.

She looked up to meet his gaze with a slow, seductive smile on her lips as she pulled his trousers down inch by inch. A moan escaped him; his eyes narrowed as she gave his freed length a slow stroke of her tongue, swirling it over the head before she pulled the leggings down his legs until he was free of them. Unhurriedly, she straightened, wiggling out of her own leggings without taking her eyes off him. A shiver of pleasure ran over her at the open want on his face as he watched her, and when the tip of her tongue darted out to wet her lips, she could see his eyes narrow with desire. Neither of them spoke, and yet there was an unmistakable bond between them as she moved up into his lap. Solas’ hand found its way into the nape of her neck, and he pulled her into a languid kiss. Little movements of her hips that provided friction but not yet more elicited small sounds of desire in her, and soon, she found herself panting into his mouth.

His name was a moan falling from her lips as she finally shifted slightly over him and felt him breach her opening. A low groan came from Solas as he grabbed a fistful of her hair, thrusting upward until he was fully sheathed inside her. Lyssa’s fingers dug into the skin of his shoulders as she bucked against him, but he held her in place. An appreciative sound was low in his throat as she submitted under his hands, letting herself be pulled down and onto him as he rocked into her.

She arched her back, offering him the opportunity to capture her breast with his mouth. Her half-moans became full-throated as he scraped his teeth over her nipples, only to soothe over it with slow strokes of his tongue, sending streaks of heat directly southwards to where their bodies met. For endless, heated moments, all she could think about was him, the feeling of his touches on her skin as their joint movements became faster, more desperate. Then his fingers found the bundle of nerves nestled at the apex of her thighs, and Lyssa lost all concept of time, of where she ended, and he began, her blood pounding in her ears as she started to tremble and clench around him.

Solas captured her mouth with his as her climax crashed through her, making her tighten around him, driving himself up and into her with greater fervor, his skin glistening with sweat, and his pleasure deep, low moans in his chest. She whimpered in his arms as she wrapped herself around him, their kiss still unbroken, and the sound seemed to awaken something in him. One hand in her neck, the other at her hip, he shifted to roll her beneath him, thrusting into her with a driving rhythm until she felt like her body was liquid under his hands.

“Solas…” she panted, her voice broken by her pleasure, and he opened his eyes to look at her. Lost in his eyes, she struggled to find the words around the deep-seated, fiery emotion in her heart, her voice trembling with it. “Ar lath ma.”

Something in him seemed to shift as his eyes flashed, and a fluttering of heat flew across her skin as he groaned deep in this throat, pushing himself even deeper into her. “Ma ane emma,” he whispered against her lips, _you are mine, _and then he kissed her again, his lips hard on hers as he became undone within her. Her every thought dissipated in his arms as he kept moving through his climax.

It might have been only moments, but it felt like a lifetime in which she just held him against herself when he sank down on her afterward, lost in the heat between them and the tenderness beneath, murmuring comforts and endearments into his ear. She felt him shiver in her arms, the tingle of magic in the air around them.

“A worthy distraction,” she finally mumbled when he looked at her again, and he blinked in surprise before he laughed. It was a rare, open sound, and happiness washed over her at it.

“Likewise, vhenan,” he said, taking his weight off her as he settled next to her and pulled her into his arms.

* * *

The rainstorms brought the cold with them, seeping the warmth out of the hallways and walls, and everyone seemed to move closer together. As autumn deepened, there was even talk among Lyssa’s companions — most notably Dorian — who looked forward to the hotter, dry climate of the Western Approach. Soon, Lyssa and a small squad would leave to secure the way for the slower-moving army; then, they would start their attack on Adamant fortress.

But so far, there was still work to do in Skyhold, and for once, Lyssa enjoyed not having to leave again after only a few days.

It was one of those rare nights where everything seemed perfect. After a long evening in the Herald’s Rest with just a tad too much wine that made everything seem a bit warmer and softer without befuddling the senses too much, Lyssa and Solas had taken a long stroll through the crisp autumn night. For once, neither of them allowed thoughts of duty and work to distract them, and they walked hand in hand through the gardens and over the battlements, watching the stars and enjoying just to be with each other. He laughed at the way she pressed the cold tip of her nose into the hollow beneath his ear, pulling her into a tight embrace and murmuring sweet nothings as they stopped for a moment beneath the big archway leading to the upper courtyard. Lyssa’s eyes were bright and sparkled with joyous love as she laid her arms around his neck, teasingly brushing her lips over his, and his smile mirrored her feelings as he captured her in his arms and kissed her deeply until they both forgot how cool the night wind was.

“Let’s go inside,” Lyssa murmured as he started kissing down her neck, making her skin tingle, and Solas hummed in agreement without stopping his ministrations. Memories of the stolen moment on the balcony in Halamshiral made her pulse race as she found her back against the rocky wall. Nobody was to be seen, the lights and sounds from the Herald’s rest fading into the background as closed her eyes and tilted her head to give him better access, her eagerness belying her words as she pulled him closer. It took another gust of ice-cold wind and some self-control not to lose themselves in the moment. When they finally made it into the already dark Main Hall to get to the stairways that led to Lyssa’s room, Solas stopped her for a second.

“I still have that theorem that Dorian gave me, let me just put that onto my desk,” he murmured against her ear, and she gave him a cheeky look.

“Do you think there is still someone in the tower?” she asked, making him raise an eyebrow as he looked down on her. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled as she kissed him, murmuring, “I do love distracting you while you are at that desk.”

The way his eyes darkened at her words sent a delighted shiver over her skin, and without another word, she started pulling him towards the room he had made his office, hands intertwined.

They had just entered the rotunda when Lyssa suddenly stopped and furrowed her brow, the smile slowly dying on her lips. “Do you smell that?” she asked, “It smells like— “

The words died in her throat as, from the corner of her eyes, she saw a lamp fall as if in slow motion, the red and yellow flame flickering dangerously over the wet, shimmering walls and ground. Nearly in the exact same second, Solas threw an arm around her and pulled her backward, a barrier springing into being, joined and strengthened by her own that she created out of instinct. Just as the lamp shattered on the ground, the oil she had smelled but had been unable to place burst into flames with an angry roar, exploding through the room. The flames leaped like waves against the walls, scorching Solas’ paintings and devouring his desk that was fully ablaze in another moment. She could see several little barrels that had been placed around the room catch fire and explode, splattering more burning oil over the floor and walls. She could feel the sudden heat searingly hot against her skin despite the green-blueish barrier that held the flames back, and her eyes were wide with shock as she realized what would have happened if they had reacted just a few seconds later.

Lyssa didn’t waste more than a thought to it but sprang into action immediately. Fire arrows and torches were one of the most popular weapons used against the clan if there was trouble; so she had doused enough fires in her life, even bigger ones. Lessening the power of the barrier just so that it still held, she threw out her hand as if to gather the flames in her palm, her magic dancing between her fingertips. The power of the fire was that of a wildfire, hot but short-lived, an energy that was so inherently familiar to her that it was easy to grasp; and she grabbed it, and _pulled_. Her fist closed, suffocating the flames before they could leap up into the first floor into the library where it would have become too powerful to control so quickly.  
The last flames sputtered and died just as another power surge went through the room, this time one of ice and coldness, drawing the last of the remaining heat out of the stone and burning wood, covering everything with a fine layer of glittering frost. The magic felt familiar, and as Lyssa looked up, she saw Vivienne standing at the railing, commanding her element with elegant ease. The ice storm stopped with a snap of her fingers, and Solas drew the last of the ambient magic into his barrier that still stood strong before he dissolved it.

It was only now that Lyssa became aware of the ruckus and noise. High up in the tower, Leliana’s ravens screeched and rattled their cages in fear and outrage, and from all directions, people came running and calling to each other. She breathed heavily as she looked at the destruction that had swept through the rotunda. The carpets had been obliterated, and the flames had reduced Solas’ desk and the other few pieces of furniture in the room to smoking, broken, charred pieces of wood. The scaffolding he used for his paintings looked decidedly unstable, and there were scorch marks on the walls. All of his work, his art, destroyed or damaged. The shock was written plainly on her face as she turned back to Solas, but he did not even look at the room. His arm was still around her, and as she turned to him, she could see a rare open display of emotion in his features; cold rage and fear. Fear for her, she realized after a moment.

“Are you alright, vhenan?” he asked, pulling her into a close embrace with a relieved sigh as she nodded. She took a shuddering breath as she pressed herself against him, feeling him strong and unhurt in her arms. That had been way too close for her taste.

They did not have more than a second before Leliana’s sharp, hard voice rang through the room as she appeared at the bottom of the stairs, shock on her face. “What happened?” she demanded just as Vivienne came down the stairs behind her, seemingly relaxed. Lyssa could see, though, that she pressed her lips together more tightly than usual, a barely visible sign that she was far from unaffected.

“It seems there was a murder attempt, my dear,” the mage said, her eyes wandering through the room.

Lyssa and Solas had let go of each other, and Lyssa took a careful step into the rotunda, taking care not to come into the vicinity of the scaffolding that still looked like it might collapse any second. The stink of the oil could still be noticed even over the stench of the smoke.

“Murder?!” Shock and disbelief were in Leliana’s voice as she, too, stepped into the room. “Impossible!”

“Is it possible the guards missed an agent of Corypheus?” Vivienne asked, and Leliana’s face darkened just as Cullen burst into the room. He had clearly already been to bed; wearing only trousers and a shirt, boots without socks and a sword in his hand.

“Are you alright, Inquisitor?” Cullen hurried over to Lyssa, scanning her for signs of injury.

“I am, we both are,” she answered, and his eyes found Solas who stood next to the door, his face once again schooled into a calmness that barely concealed a thinly veiled anger at what happened.

“I do not think this was an agent of Corypheus, Vivienne,” Solas said, just as Josephine stopped at the door with a shocked gasp. She was still taking the scenery in, when Cullen interjected before Vivienne could answer, his voice incredulous, “Agent of Corypheus? What happened?”

“Someone doused the rotunda in oil,” Lyssa answered more calmly than she felt and pointed at the broken lamp that had fallen and ignited the blaze, “and just as we entered, dropped a lamp into it.”

Cullen’s face darkened, and he bellowed towards one of the soldiers that had appeared in one of the doorways, “I want double guards, now. Check any newcomer and search the hallways. Check the Inquisitor’s quarters as well. If there is an intruder, I want them found, now.”

“Tripwire,” Leliana growled, and several heads turned towards her. “You’ll find nobody in the tower, Cullen. It was a well-placed wire that toppled the lamp.” She pointed towards the rest of the wire knotted around the metal circle at the top of the lamp that had somehow survived the fire.

“Who could do this?” Josephine exclaimed, a mixture of shock and fury in her voice.

“As I said,” Vivienne started, “an agent of -“

“This was not directed at me,” Lyssa interrupted her. A sudden silence fell, but she only looked at Solas, who nodded slightly. He had had the same thought.

“I believe the Inquisitor is correct,” Solas said calmly. “This was an attempt on my life.”

Vivienne clicked her tongue dismissively. “I believe you overestimate yourself, my dear.”

Lyssa suppressed the urge to glare at Vivienne. That the Enchanter had a distinct dislike of Solas was no secret, and most of the time, Lyssa paid it no heed, but this was definitely not the time or place to display it. However, help came from an unlikely source.

“On the contrary, my dear Vivienne, I believe you underestimate him,” Dorian interjected. He stood in the doorway, impeccably dressed as always. Lyssa looked at him in surprise, and even Solas raised an eyebrow. Dorian was normally not the person to defend Solas. “Or if not his person, at least you underestimate his role.”

Ah. _That _sounded more like Dorian. Lyssa exchanged a look with Solas that was equally amused and exasperated. Dorian caught the look and gave her a conspiratorial wink before he elaborated, “He is, after all, the chosen consort of one of the most powerful women in Thedas. There is a lot to gain by removing the elven apostate hobo, the elven servant as he was called in the Winter Palace if I recall correctly, the nobody mage, from the Inquisitor’s side. I am rather surprised it took so long for a murder attempt. We’d have seen a dozen such incidents, if more elaborate and probably successful, in Tevinter by now.”

“Not with me on site,” Leliana said grimly, crossing her arms before her chest, and Dorian gave her a delighted smile.

“Of course not. I did not mean to diminish your abilities, Leliana,” he said smoothly with a slight bow, and she rolled her eyes before she focussed on Josephine who had narrowed her eyes and nodded at the spymaster.

“I think I have an idea,” the ambassador said in an unusually cold and businesslike voice. “Meet me in the war room in ten minutes. Cullen, Inquisitor.” She barely waited for their acknowledging nods before she hurried out of the room, followed by Cullen who immediately grabbed one of his lieutenants and walked towards his office while giving instructions.

“I’ll make sure someone secures the scaffolding and takes care that the flames don’t start again,” Leliana stated and left as well, followed by Vivienne who wore a thoughtful expression.

Solas had come up to Lyssa who stood next to the remains of his desk and shook his head with a sigh as he looked down at what was left. Wordlessly, Lyssa slid her arm around him and snuggled into his embrace as she tried to wrap her head around what just happened.

A dark and old fear had grabbed her, and she buried her nose into the crook of his neck, taking a deep breath to calm herself. Too familiar was the stink of fire, too closely connected to the death of a beloved. Solas’ arm tightened around her. “Everything alright?” he whispered into her hair, and she nodded wordlessly, clinging to the knowledge that this time, they had not gotten to him. Solas was alright.

“Whoever could Josephine mean?” Dorian asked, stepping closer as well and nudging the corner of the desk with his foot. Lyssa opened her eyes again but didn’t let go of Solas.

“Whoever could Josephine mean?” Dorian asked, stepping closer as well and nudging the corner of the desk with his foot. Lyssa opened her eyes again but didn’t let go of Solas.

“I’m not quite sure. There have been a few disgruntled nobles,” she answered quietly. “Some of them tried several times to win my hand. There is one who has written me a poem nearly every day during the summer. I think he asked three times by now.”

“Three times?!” Dorian exclaimed. “What in the Maker’s name made him take it that far? Any person with dignity would have backed away after the first denial.”

Lyssa shrugged. “Josie said something that it seems he thought that the first denials were just… politeness? Something about having to deny twice before finally being able to accept the third time? Or waiting to gather more power? I don’t know.” She frowned as she thought about the letters she had received. “I don’t actually think it’s him, though. He seems to be quite content in the role of tragic lover.”

“Hm,” Dorian made, tapping a finger to the tip of his nose as he thought. “But he was not the only one, I take it?”

She shook her head. “No. But Josephine handles most of them, though she seemed unconcerned. I think the only thing she really worried about was one or two possibly cutting diplomatic ties.”

Solas’ arm tightened around her. “It might not even be one of those who already tried but someone who wanted to remove me as an obstacle beforehand to save face,” he contemplated, a dark look on his face.

Dorian scoffed. “Whoever it is, they must be delusional!”

Lyssa nodded unhappily. This was part of what she loathed most of her role as Inquisitor. The political dance with people who juggled with lives and people as if they were nothing, and who couldn’t see further than their own wealth and political advancement. And now, she would have to take the next step on a dance floor she often still didn’t quite understand. “Come on,” she said quietly to Solas. “Josephine will be waiting.”

He looked down at her in surprise. “But not for me.”

A hint of stubbornness was in her voice as she said, “I don’t care. I won’t be leaving your side again tonight. Will you come with me?”

Something in his features softened, and after a moment, he inclined his head. “Of course.”


	7. The Curse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Note: Implied threat of sexual violence!!**  
It is neither detailed nor does anything actually happen, but please be safe when reading. This is the only chapter that has something like this. I’ll put a summary of this chapter in the end notes if you’d rather skip it.

Josephine had the same thought as Lyssa and had already come up with a list of names of people she suspected. But despite their joint efforts, they were unable to find the person who had set the trap in the rotunda, and even Leliana’s best agents couldn’t find any proof of who was behind the attack.

For the next week, Cullen kept double guards in the keep, and both Solas and Lyssa had one stationed in front of their quarters at all times. The mages in Skyhold all worked on renewing and strengthening the wards around the keep with a special focus on personal quarters, and Leliana’s ravens were extremely busy while Josephine wrote carefully worded, furious letters, both to no avail. Lyssa even asked Sera for help from Red Jenny. With a scowl, Sera promised she would send out word, but the dubious tone of her voice warned Lyssa that she was already sure they wouldn’t find much, if anything at all.

The ease of the last weeks dissipated as everyone kept preparing for another assassination attempt… but nothing happened. Red Jenny remained silent, and no intruder was found, no further attempt on Solas’ or anyone else’s life made. Lyssa remained worried and kept asking Josephine about what they could do to ensure this would not happen again, but finally, even she had to concede that everything they could do had been done. They would have to concentrate on other things.

Harvestmere turned to Firstfall, and the first snowflakes were dancing in the air as Lyssa, Solas, Cassandra, and Varric set out as an advance party for the Western Approach.

Being on the road again eased Lyssa’s nervousness. There was a warm familiarity in traveling and making camp that always calmed her down, and she counted on the anonymity of traveling without a big entourage. When they left the mountains behind, and with it, the snow and ice-cold nights, the general mood lightened even more. Here in Orlais, the days were still warm and the nights much milder than in Skyhold; the trees still full of golden and bright red leaves, and the skies blue and sunny.

It was easy traveling, and after a few days, they had settled into an old routine. It had been quite a while since they had traveled in this combination, and amid Varric’s light-hearted stories and Cassandra’s good-natured complaining about them, Lyssa left the last of her anxiousness behind.

It was a cool, cloudy day when they decided to make camp early to be able to set the tents before darkness fell. Not far off the main road, they found a clearing that, judging by the old fireplace in its middle that still had a bit of wood placed next to it, was obviously a well-liked spot for travelers. Varric and Cassandra went off to hunt and collect more wood while Solas and Lyssa stayed behind to build the tents and place wards around their campsite. Lyssa hummed to herself as she started a fire and unloaded the last bags from the packhorse while Solas fixed the last of the tents.

The mare threw her head and stamped her feet as she took down the heavy bag with their provisions.

“Hey, girl, it’s all good,” she said soothingly, falling into the soft singsong she adopted when talking to animals as she put the bag down and ran her hand over the horse’s neck to calm her down. “You’re off for the night. Come on.” She took her by the bridle and brought her to where they had put the other horses.

Just as she was on her way back to the tents, she heard the telltale clink of Cassandra’s armor coming towards her through the trees.

Smiling, she looked up, turning towards her. “Cassandra, you didn’t by any chance find any mushr…” Her voice trailed off as she realized that the person in armor standing in front of her was not, in fact, Cassandra.

“Not quite,” the human said, a cold smile on his smooth face. He was probably in his late forties, a touch of grey to his brown hair. From his accent and his clothes, she knew that he was Orlesian, and rich. There was a cruel line around his mouth, but while Lyssa thought she’d heard that voice before, she was sure that she had never seen his face before.

It was crystal clear from the cold smile and the look in his eyes, however, that his intent was _ not _ good.

Instinctively, Lyssa reached for her staff but remembered too late that it was still waiting for her next to the campfire. Before she could even yell a warning towards Solas, a wave of blue light flooded the clearing and drove the air out of her. For a horrible second, she felt as if she was ripped apart from the inside out, and she toppled over with a strangled outcry. The world _ stopped_, and pain, sharp as a thousand needle pricks, shot through her, ripping something away from her and leaving only emptiness behind. She gasped, barely managing to stay on her feet as the world swayed and then snapped back into focus, hard. Someone grabbed her arm, and instinctively, she reached for her magic to throw them off, but where her power lay was only a black, empty nothingness. She looked up at the human who still smiled at her as his fingers tightened around her arm, catching her other hand as she tried to fight him off with her bare fist. For a few moments, she struggled, an angry growl in the back of her throat, but her movements were sluggish, unfocussed as the world swayed around her, and it was easy for the man to hold her fast.

“Stop it!” he hissed. “I’d hate to marr your face, but if you don’t stop struggling now, by the Maker, I will hit you!”

Again, she reached for her magic, but even the try _ hurt _ down to her very core. But it was the sight of another human stepping out of the woods, a flaming sword on his armor, his sword still blazing with a blue flame, that made her freeze. Lyssa’s eyes widened in horror as she realized what had happened.

A Holy Smite.

It was the first time she had been hit by one, and for a long moment, it was hard to focus on anything but the pain that still flooded through her, hammering behind her temples and making her taste bile in the back of her throat.

The man who held her arms seemed oblivious to her condition — or maybe he just didn’t care. She assumed it was the latter. He clicked his tongue and shook his head in a fake display of disappointment. “Good girl,” he said smugly when she stopped struggling. “You wouldn’t want to attack me, would you, Inquisitor?” he said, unable to keep a mocking note out of his voice.

Lyssa forced herself to take a deep breath that made the pain subside somewhat and straightened slowly, trying not to let the unease and fear show too clearly on her face. He knew just as well as she that there was no way she could use her magic against him now, not while she was still cut off from the Fade and the effects of the Smite lingered.

“Who are you?” she demanded, glad to hear that her voice did not waver.

The smugness on his face was immediately replaced by a murderous fury, so sudden and intense that Lyssa flinched back. The grip on her arm tightened to the point of pain, and with a sharp tug, he jerked her towards him until his face was just inches before hers. Again, that feeling of slight familiarity tugged at her even through her fear and pain, but she couldn’t place him. Orlesian nobility tended to blend into each other, one mask replaced by another, one empty compliment after another.

“You don’t even remember who I am?” he hissed, specks of spit flying from his lips. “I will teach you respect, you little bitch!” 

With a few, long strides, he went to the the camp, dragging her along. Lyssa was too dazed to properly react, every step sending another sharp pain through her head. Once they reached the tents, the human propelled her forward with another yank on her arm, so she stumbled forward and fell to her knees with a little sound of pain, but every thought dissipated as she looked up and saw Solas.

He was on his knees as well, blood in the corner of his lips. His face was ashen and cold sweat on his forehead. She could see the shimmer of pain in his eyes and in the way he clenched his hands, but even more important than the clear signs that he had been hit by a Smite as well was the blade at his throat.

All color drained from her face, and a cold fear spread through her, but Solas showed no sign of fear. He had the same expression of calm but cold, thinly veiled anger in his eyes he had shown after the attack in the rotunda. 

“How the tables have turned, Inquisitor,” the Orlesian said with satisfaction. “The last time I saw you, I was the one kneeling.” A dry chuckle. “I must say I rather like it better this way.”

It took all her willpower to drag her eyes away from Solas, but there was no way she would stay on her knees now, and with a deep breath, she stood and turned so she could look at the man while still keeping Solas in her sight.

It was the way that he looked from her to Solas, the cool disgust in his eyes that made her suddenly realize who he was.

“Duke Legrand,” she said tonelessly. She hadn’t seen his face back then, at that very first proposal she had handled so badly. His face had hidden behind Orlesian tradition, a full mask. It had been golden; she remembered that much.

The cold smile was back on his face. “Indeed,” he answered. “The very same. I see you remember me after all.” He took a step towards her, grabbing her arm again as she took a step backwards to keep her in place. His breath was hot on her cheek as he hissed, “I remember as well. The insult, the humiliation, the ridicule you submitted me to, _ Inquisitor_. But you will see the error of your ways.”

At his sign, several men in armor stepped out from behind the trees, two with templar insignia on their breastplates, and two others with bows in their hand, their arrows pointing at Lyssa. One of the templars pushed Cassandra into the clearing. The woman looked both furious and dazed, blood streaking over her forehead. She was gagged, and her hands were bound as she fell to the ground with a heavy thud and a groan. 

Lyssa could feel Legrand step up behind her, so close that she could feel the heat from his body against her. He grabbed her by both shoulders, his fingers digging into her shirt as he said, “Now, this can go either way, Inquisitor, and it is entirely up to you which way it goes.”

She was frozen in place, a fury fueled by a dark, deep-rooted fear rose in her as she looked to Solas. She wouldn’t let them hurt him. She couldn’t lose him.

“You are making a mistake,” she hissed, clenching her fist and straightening slightly even as his hands on her tightened.

“On the contrary, Inquisitor. The only mistake I made was miscalculating the timing of the last try,” he retorted, letting go of her arms and stepping around her. He gave the man with the blade on Solas’ throat a sign, and the templar tightened his grip on Solas, pressing the sharp metal closer to his skin until a tiny red trickle started to run down his skin and disappeared in his tunic.

“No!” she exclaimed before she could stop herself, taking a step towards him, her hand outreached, and the blade eased off. Lyssa’s eyes were wide, and she bit her lip as she barely managed to restrain herself from leaping forward. Her heart hammered in her chest as she looked to Legrand.

The Duke smiled again and took a few steps towards Solas, not bothering to disguise the disgust in his face as he looked down on the elven mage. “It was a surprise when I didn’t hear of his demise, but if you think I’d be deterred by such a minor setback, you are wrong.”

He turned back to Lyssa and gave her a chilling look. “I am not in the habit of being denied, Inquisitor. You will find that if I want something, I _ will _ get it, no matter the obstacles.” His gaze wandered over her body from top to bottom and up again, and when his eyes met hers again, there was an expression in them that made her blood run cold. Her hands clenched. “But don’t worry,” he said with a tone to his voice that sent chills down her back. “If you give me what I want, there is no need to spill the apostate’s blood. He can walk for all I care.”

Her mouth was dry, and she could feel the anchor crackling within her clenched fist, but she knew she couldn’t risk anything while there was a blade at Solas’ throat. So she forced herself to ask as calmly as possible, “And what exactly is it that you want, Legrand?”

“It is _my Lord_!” he bellowed, his face distorted in sudden rage, and Lyssa’s hand twitched in an instinctive try to summon her still absent magic. But as quickly as the rage had come, it disappeared from his face again, and then the smile was back as he took a breath. The plethora of emotions flickering on his face made Lyssa nearly dizzy in their intensity. It was clear that the man was not used to being seen, the absence of his mask making him careless. And there was something in his features that kept her attention. It was rage and unsatisfied need, and shimmering beneath… broken pride. It was that what made her shudder.

A man who thought he defended his honor would not back down once his rage was satisfied.

“I thought I’d made that abundantly clear, Inquisitor,” Legrand continued, oblivious to her fearful thoughts. “Your hand in marriage.” His eyes wandered over her body again, and her lips curled in disgust and fear. “You are a beautiful woman, after all, despite that little… hereditary disadvantage.” He gestured towards her ears. “Not that your beauty matters, it’s your power that makes you worthy of my interest,” he added. “I’d have married you if you were nothing but an ugly little nug. But it is a nice bonus that I plan to enjoy to its fullest.”

There was a small pause, and a cruel smile curled the corner of his lips. Lyssa was torn between the need to run and hide, and the urge to stand up to him. Her fists clenched as the human said, “At first, I was deterred by your origin, but…” Taking another step towards her, he brought his face close to hers, grabbing her chin to force her to look at him as she tried to turn her face away in disgust, “but since our children will only be elf-blooded but otherwise human, that little problem will be bred out again very quickly.”

Lyssa looked at him in horror, her mind racing. Everything within her screamed _ ‘No!’ _ — but what was she to do? With a gesture, he could make the soldier slit Solas’ throat, and there was no doubt in her mind that Legrand would do that in a heartbeat and without remorse. Her throat closed as she realized that without access to her magic, she had no options left. There was no chance that she could get close enough to Solas to get that soldier off him in time to stop the human from killing him.

But at the same time she couldn’t just give in!

Desperation rose in her as she tried to come up with a way for all of them to come out of this unharmed, but everything she could think of ended with enough time for the soldier to kill Solas.

Legrand watched the display of emotions on Lyssa’s face with satisfaction. He had the upper hand, and he knew it.

“Now, Inquisitor, what will it be?” He still held her chin in his hand and smirked. “You can either be a good girl and say _ yes _ now, and your elfling lives another day, or you can make this difficult, make me kill him, and then still marry me. What will it be?”

Lyssa glared at him, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. A shadow moved somewhere behind the trees beyond the tents, and again, she reached for her magic, more out of instinct than anything else, but there was still nothing but a painful, black emptiness within her.

“Fen’Harel ma halam,” she hissed, _ Dread Wolf end you, _ putting all her fury into the curse.

Legrand furrowed his brow, his lip curling in disgust at the elven language.

“What was that?” he asked sharply, his eyes narrowing and with a vehement tug, Lyssa freed her face from his grasp.

“This will never work. Do you really think anyone would believe such a sudden change of heart on my part?” she spat, but he just shrugged.

“I couldn’t care less what others think. But you are right — people _ would _ probably try to stop this in some way. So… let’s not dally, shall we.”

At a wave of his hand, one of the templars stepped forward. “Let me introduce Brother Romund. He will officiate before we consummate our wedding.”

“What?! No!” The word was out before Lyssa could stop herself, and Legrand sighed exaggeratedly.

“Well then…” He made a nod towards the man who had his blade at Solas’ neck. The templar nodded and repositioned his dagger, pulling Solas’ head backwards to expose his throat. Searing panic flooded Lyssa at the sight, and instinctively, she wanted to rush towards him, but Legrand grabbed her arm again, stopping her in mid-motion, and she nearly stumbled to the ground.

“Wait!” she called out in dismay, and the templar stopped, taking the dagger away at a sign from Legrand.

For a second, her terrified eyes met Solas’. He looked at her with more calmness than she thought possible, meeting her gaze without wavering. But she could also see the deadly fury burning inside him. She couldn’t let him die. Could not lose him to a blade — not him, too. She _ couldn’t_. The memory of that dreadful night was etched into her mind in razor-sharp outlines. And she hadn’t been able to defend Nelos while she had her magic, what could she hope to achieve without it?

“I’m waiting,” Legrand said behind her, and Lyssa suppressed a shiver and closed her eyes. Her shoulders dropped in defeat.

“Alright,” she whispered, turning towards the human who smiled triumphantly.

“No!” Solas’ outcry cut through the air like a knife, and everybody looked at him, the blade back at his throat. But Solas ignored everybody but Lyssa. _No,_ he mouthed as their eyes met, shaking his head nearly imperceptibly. For a split second, she saw his eyes flicker towards her hand. “Dhruan ma.” _I trust you._

“Shut it, elf,” Legrand snapped as he yanked Lyssa towards himself. “Now, Inquisitor, you were saying?”

She was half pressed against his body, feeling his breath on her face, and everything within her revolted against him, but she kept her eyes on Solas. His voice whispered in her mind._ I trust you. _ She knew he trusted her, but trust was not strong enough to keep the blade from killing him. How was she supposed to keep him safe? Again, she reached for her magic and found only the faintest echo of pain.

“Inquisitor…” The threat in Legrand’s voice was unmistakable as his hand tightened on her arm, making her grit her teeth in pain, and she clenched her hand into a fist. A tingle was on her palm, and her eyes widened.

_ Her hand_.

The way Solas had looked at her hand, her _ mark_. And then there was the shadow she had seen out of the corner of her eye earlier. The desperation she had felt turned to fury as she remembered the flaring hot flame within herself that she had used to kill Nelos’ murderer. She had promised that day that she would never let anyone touch her loved ones again.

No. She would not submit. If there was even the slightest chance she could defend him, defend them all, she had to take it.

Grabbing at even the tiniest trickle of energy she found within herself, she looked up at Legrand, and her eyes promised death.

”I said: Never again shall we submit!” she snarled and pushed her left hand high up in the air, throwing every ounce of willpower into the movement as she poured her energy into the anchor. The green flare was just a shadow of what it normally would have been, but it was enough to throw their attackers off balance for a whole two seconds.

The moment the grip on her arm loosened, Lyssa drove her shoulder into Legrand to make him stumble backwards — just like Iron Bull had shown her — and sprinted for her staff before he knew what had hit him. Behind her, in one fluid movement, Solas grabbed the blade from the soldier who had had it at his throat, rolling out of reach in the next moment. Before the humans realized what he planned, he cut Cassandra’s restraints who lay just a few meters away from him. Just as the warrior sat up, ripping the gag out, a volley of bolts started raining down on them, felling one of the templars and making another scream. It was enough to cause chaos.

Lyssa was lucky enough that the arrow aimed at her missed her by a hair’s width, soaring through the air where she had been a mere moment ago. She grabbed her staff with both hands just in time to block an attack from Legrand, who had quickly regained his balance and came after her.

“I will have what I want!” the human yelled, his face a distorted grimace of rage.

Never had Lyssa been so glad that her training included simple hand-to-hand combat as well. Even back in the clan, her keeper had been aware of the possibility of templars coming after them and made a point of enabling her to defend herself without using her magic. It had never come easily to her, but she knew enough to be able to hold her own, at least for a time; as long as it took for someone to come to her aid.

As she ducked beneath a blow of Legrand’s sword, she was faintly aware that there was the sound of fighting to be heard and the sharp clang of Bianca being fired. There was no time to think about the others. She blocked another blow and jumped backwards, barely escaping a wide swing of the blade. But despite her training, it was still the metal blade of a trained warrior against the wooden staff of an apostate mage, and Lyssa knew she wouldn’t be able to keep Legrand off for long.

She didn’t have to.

Suddenly, a heavy blow met his head, his knees gave way under him, and with a heavy groan, he collapsed. Lyssa’s breath came in short, heavy gasps, her eyes huge. For a second, she just stared at the groaning human who tried to get up again, just to be hit in the neck by a foot and collapsing onto the floor again.

“Worthless piece of blightcreep,” Cassandra hissed and spat on the floor next to him. She held a blade in her hand, and the blood on her face still hadn’t dried, trickling down her cheek.

“You alright, Cassandra?” Lyssa asked breathlessly when she had collected herself enough to think.

The warrior nodded. “Nothing but a scratch. What about you?”

“I’m fine,” Lyssa lied. She was far from fine. But she was physically unhurt — if she ignored the still lingering effects of the Smite — and that was what counted at the moment. As she looked around, she saw the rest of their attackers on the floor, most already dead, one being sped on by Solas as she watched.

“How did you know that Varric was there?” the Seeker asked, nodding towards the dwarf who shouldered Bianca with a deceptive casualness as he came over to them.

“I didn’t,” she confessed, and Cassandra drew a sharp breath in. “I hoped he was close,” Lyssa added, “but there was no way to know.” He was the only one who had not been captured, and when she had remembered the shadow at the edge of the camp, she had taken a gamble.

“Quite a game you play, Ember,” Varric said and Lyssa shrugged. Her knees still felt weak, her emotions running wild.

“The stakes were high,” she murmured, taking a step towards Solas as he joined them, a bloody sword still in his hand. “Are you alright, ma’lath?” Lyssa asked quietly as their hands met. Her eyes flickered over his face to the thin cut on his throat, and she shuddered deeply as she realized just how close she had been to losing him.

“Still cut off,” he answered, a shadow of horror and pain lingering in his features. 

“Me too,” she nodded, taking a deep breath as he pulled her into a quick, tight embrace.

A groan made them turn towards Legrand who regained consciousness. Cassandra grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into an upright position, glaring at him furiously. “You will pay for this, Legrand!”

But the man had the audacity to actually laugh at her, arrogance oozing out of him, seemingly unaware of the fact that it was him who was kneeling now.

“I doubt it. There may be a trial, but I am rich. I am powerful. And Orlais needs me. Even the _ Inquisition _ needs me and my money.” A smile was on his lips, and he dusted his coat off with one hand before he gingerly touched the back of his head with a tiny flinch. Then he looked back at them again, coldness in his eyes. “You’ll see. This is not over. I’ll just have to try harder next time.”

Lyssa was just about to answer him when Solas stepped up, looking down at the man without giving him any leverage. “Next time?” The words were drawled out, matching Legrand’s tone in arrogance and hateful superiority. “You will find that I am not inclined to be merciful when it comes to threats to my loved ones. There will not be a next time.”

He lifted the bloody sword in his hand, and Legrand gasped, his eyes widening. “You wouldn’t dare!”

Solas looked at Lyssa, the corner of his lip lifted in a smile that held no humor. “What was that curse you used, vhenan?”

For a second, she wavered, unsure what to do. Too well did she remember Halam’shiral. But Legrand was right. He would get away with this unless Gaspard gave him into her jurisdiction which she knew he wouldn’t. And other than Celene, Legrand _ had _ threatened her — and not only her.

“But—“ Cassandra started to protest, but Varric laid a hand on her arm, silently shaking his head, hardness in his eyes, and the Seeker closed her mouth again.

“Fen’harel ma halam,” Lyssa answered, steel in her voice.

Solas’ smile sharpened. “I like that one,” he said.

The second he turned back to Legrand, the human tried to jump up, but before he had even come to his feet, the blade slashed across his throat. His eyes were wide with shock and disbelief as he clawed at the gaping wound, blood gushing forth between his fingers, and with one final gurgle, he collapsed to the ground, his eyes already dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no further attempt on Solas’ life, nor is the culprit found. However, when Lyssa, Solas, Cassandra, and Varric travel ahead the Inquisition army to the Western Approach, they are ambushed by Duke Legrand, the Orlesian noble who proposed to Lyssa a few months ago and was refused. Legrand, with the help of templars who Smite Solas and Lyssa, manages to overpower them. He threatens to kill Solas if Lyssa does not agree to marry him right then and there. Lyssa is eerily reminded of the night where Nelos was killed in front of her and, in her desperation, is about to agree when Solas calls out to her. She uses the Anchor to distract the soldier threatening Solas, and he manages to free Cassandra. Varric comes to their help, and together, they strike back and win. Legrand taunts them that he’ll find another way to get what he wants, but Solas kills him.


	8. Abyss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The background for why there are _so many Hawkes_ in my story can be found in Precipice of Change. Long story short: Adriene and Cassia Hawke are twins, both Champion of Kirkwall, and Carver is their Warden contact. Cassia is married to Cullen. Because why not make Adamant even more horrible for everyone involved ;)

They didn’t talk much as they packed up the camp, leaving the bodies where they had fallen. Cassandra had the presence of mind to take Lord Legrand’s signet ring with her. By the time they were on the road again, night had fallen, but none of them wanted to stay at a campsite where half the ground was soaked with blood. They went on, following the road until the night was so dark that they could barely see anything. The moon and stars hid behind a thick blanket of clouds that shrouded everything in a darkness that was so total it felt tangible. It was slow going and weren’t it for the veilfire sprite that Solas had summoned with a relieved sigh as his magic came back, traveling would have been nigh impossible. Lyssa still felt the aftershocks of the Smite in a throbbing headache even after she felt her magic returning; a soothing white and gold flow deep within her.

Cassandra was the first to break the silence that had fallen between them.

“I must confess, Solas, that your actions surprised me,” she said cautiously.

He looked at her with guarded curiosity. “What about them surprised you?” he asked.

She considered her words before she answered, “I would not have taken you for someone who takes justice into his own hands. You have never done so before.”

“That you know of,” he gave back, his voice grim and a dark look in his eyes. When he caught her look, though, he quickly schooled his face into a polite smile and amended, “Normally you would be correct, Seeker. However, Legrand made it personal.” He looked at Lyssa who was riding next to him, tired and silent, lost in thought. His voice softened as he said to Cassandra, “Had you been in my position, would you have acted differently?”

Cassandra looked at them and didn’t answer for a while. When she did, her voice was quiet. “I suppose not.”

Lyssa looked up with burning eyes and said, “If he hadn’t, I would have done it. He would never have stopped coming after us.” _ After me_, she didn't say, but the cold shudder running through her spoke for her. 

Varric interjected, “I hate to say it, but this might open a can of worms. Not that I begrudge his death, people like him deserve what they get. But powerful men have powerful allies.”

“I don’t care,” Lyssa murmured. “Even if this hurts the Inquisition. I’ll always put your lives above power.”

“And that’s why we love you, Ember,” Varric said with a warm undertone, and Lyssa gave him a thankful, small smile. Just a few minutes later, he straightened in the saddle. “Do my eyes deceive me, or is there a tavern up ahead?”

They all perked up. Behind the branches hanging over the road shone a small but very distinct light that grew the closer they came to it.

“Thank the Maker,” Cassandra sighed, the first hint of how exhausted she was. Lyssa had tended to her wound as best she could, but without her healing magic, she hadn’t been able to subdue the pain for long. But the battle and day and night of traveling had taken their toll on all of them, and nobody argued when Lyssa suggested they get a room there. Luckily for them, they not only managed to wake the owner, but there were still three small rooms free for them to use.

Lyssa put the candle on the windowsill and leaned her staff against the wall. The room was tiny, barely bigger than the bed that stood in it, but for tonight, it would be enough. She still felt raw, tired to the bone, and more rattled than she liked to admit to herself. With a dull thump, the saddlebags fell to the ground where she dropped them, her cloak billowing as it followed them down into a heap on the ground. Solas closed the door behind him, warded it and followed suit, albeit a bit more carefully as he unclasped his cloak and hung it over the one chair in the room. Both their movements showed their tiredness, slow and heavy, and neither said a word as they took off their boots and started undressing.

Solas had just taken off his leather armor when he realized that Lyssa had just stopped, the leather vest of her own armor dangling from her hand. She stared motionless into the tiny flame of the candle that illuminated the room. He went over to her, his hand caressing the small of her back. She let the vest fall onto the bed and looked up at him as he stepped around her to take her into his arms.

“Are you alright, vhenan?” he asked softly.

It was as if the question opened the lid on the emotions she had bottled up, and suddenly, she felt tears in her eyes.

“No, I don’t think I am,” she confessed, her voice breaking, and she pressed her face into his shoulder as he pulled her close and placed little kisses on her hair. Her arms came around him, and she melted into his embrace as if she couldn’t bear the thought of even an inch of distance between them. “He nearly killed you,” she whispered as the strain of what happened fell from her.

“But he didn’t.” Solas was calm, a soothing, strong presence in the whirlwind that was her emotions, and she tried to cling to it even though her words tumbled out in a broken voice.

“When he moved to kill you, I… I couldn’t think. All I could see was that knife at your throat. And I couldn’t do a single thing.”

“But you did. You stopped him.” She nodded but didn’t let go, silent tears soaking into his tunic. For a while, he just held her until she took a deep, shivering breath, relaxing in his arms. Carefully, he laid a hand under her chin and lifted her face slightly so she looked up at him, his eyes burning into hers. Her cheeks were wet, and he kissed the last tears away. His voice was very quiet but intense as he said, “You nearly sacrificed yourself for my sake. Vhenan... Why would you do that?”

Lyssa’s arms tightened around him, and her eyes were dark as she said, “I couldn't watch someone I love die. Not again.” For a moment, a memory surfaced, of dark drops of blood flying through the air, the flickering reflection of fire on a blade, and the horrible stillness of a body on the ground. She shuddered as the picture of Solas lying in a pool of blood in the exact same way went through her mind and quickly put it away. “Back then, I was too late. Just a fraction of a moment too late — and it cost his life. Today — I couldn’t let that happen again. I couldn’t risk you.”

She could see the understanding in his eyes as he drew the parallel, gently wiping away another tear running down her face. Lyssa turned her head to the side as she thought back to what Legrand had said. She knew exactly what he would have done right then and there, what he would have expected, enforced. Her stomach clenched, and for a second, she stared into empty space. “I’ve rarely felt so helpless,” she murmured tonelessly. “Do you remember how you once said to Cassandra that nullifying magic is like reinforcing reality?” She looked back at him, and he nodded. “I am useless in that unalterable world. And there weren’t exactly many alternatives without my magic. I would never have made it to you in time without it. Giving him what he wanted seemed to be the only option left for me.”

There was a dark note in his voice that she couldn’t quite place as he murmured, “But submitting yourself to such a man! Nothing is worth such a sacrifice.”

Something in the way he looked at her, his brows slightly furrowed, made her take notice. Lyssa paused, tilting her head slightly and searching his face. She was just about to ask what was bothering him when his earlier words came back to her, and she said, “It’s not what I did, but that I did it for you, isn’t it?”

Solas took a breath but didn’t answer, something flickering in his eyes, and she laid a hand on his cheek, drawing her eyebrows together. “Did you really think I wouldn’t do anything to help you?”

His gaze softened, and he shook his head. “No, vhenan,” he said quietly, laying his hand over hers and placing them both on his heart. “I did not doubt you for a second.”

“Then what…” she began, but when she saw the emotion in his eyes, she trailed off. It was a very old pain that kept him in its grips. Her eyes widened. “Solas,” she said, her gaze intense. “Do you really think you are not worth saving?”

Solas stilled, his arms tightening slightly around her, but he didn’t say anything. Lyssa sensed that there was a lot more behind his silence than he let on, but before he could draw back or say something to contradict her, her fingers tightened over his, and she drew them towards herself, kissing his knuckles softly. Then she looked at him intently, warmth and love in her eyes as she said with emphasis, “You are worth saving, Solas.”

He drew a breath, never looking away from her, doubt and disbelief, love, tenderness, and something that looked suspiciously like grief in his face. After a long moment, she added a bit more quietly, “And it wasn’t a sacrifice. I would have still lived.”

This time, his answer was immediate. “No.” His eyes were dark, and a shadow was on his face as he said, “I know people like that. He would have crushed the life out of you.” He shook his head. “You might have existed, but at what cost?“

Her voice was soft but decisive as she insisted, “I’d trade my happiness for your life any time.”

Solas just looked at her, with an expression that was nearly painful. “Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true,” Lyssa retorted with a shrug. “My happiness isn’t worth your life. Not anyone's life.”

“Lyssa…”

She only shook her head stubbornly. “Are you really saying I should have risked—”

“He would have killed me anyway,” he interrupted, and Lyssa went silent, her eyes widening slightly. Solas took a deep breath before he added more softly, “He would have used you, and then killed me. As long as I lived, I would have been a reminder of how he obtained his prize, an obstacle, a risk. And he would have been right to kill me. I'd have done anything to get you out of his grasp, no matter the cost.”

There was a promise in his voice that seemed to reverberate through the night air, and for a few seconds, silence fell. She saw in his eyes what he didn’t say, the fear he had felt for her, the pain of being cut off from the Fade, the helplessness that would haunt them both for some time.

“Maybe you're right,” she said very quietly eventually. “Maybe he would have done that. But not immediately. It would have bought you time. Time where they would have been distracted by… me, time for your magic to resurface, time for Varric to free you or Cassandra or both. A small sacrifice for the greater good. Some people would call this wisdom.”

For the longest moment, he didn't say a word, just looked at her with an intensity that seemed to burn into her very being. He slowly shook his head as if to say ‘No’ but no words came. After another second, Lyssa gave him a tentative smile. “Good thing I’m not a very wise person.”

The corner of his mouth twitched nearly involuntary, and he closed his eyes before he leaned his forehead against hers with a small sigh. “I would argue with that… but not right now,” he murmured. Taking her face in both hands and looking deeply into her eyes, he added, “For now, I’m just glad we both came out of it unharmed.”

His lips brushed over hers in a with a tenderness behind which a promise and heat lingered. Lyssa’s eyes fluttered closed, and her hands grabbed the cloth of his tunic, pulling him closer and pressing her lips against his in a kiss that spoke of both relief and a desperate need, and he responded in kind. Yes, they were both unharmed. One of his hands wandered over into her neck, the other came around her to pull her even closer, and the kiss deepened. When the candle flickered and died, neither of them noticed. They had made it.

That night, despite the exhaustion and lingering dread over what had happened, Solas didn't sleep. 

He lay awake, listening to Lyssa's breath and the familiar, calming feeling of magic running through him. Even now, he couldn't quite quench the rage about what had happened and the deep-seated horror of being cut off from his magic. Rarely had he felt something so _ wrong_. Like gasping for air underwater, like caught in perpetual vertigo, hovering over the abyss in that second when you start falling, knowing there was just death beneath. Just another sign of what had gone wrong with this world after his ill-fated attempt to save it.

He let a spark run over his fingers, dancing in the air before it sank down onto Lyssa's skin. She muttered something unintelligible before calming down again, snuggling closer to his body.

Solas let out a breath as he looked down on her, one hand running through her hair. He still couldn't quite believe what she had nearly done. The desperate determination to save his life, the pure fear of losing him… in a way, it still felt surreal to see the depth of her love displayed so clearly.

He had tried so hard to keep his distance, had been determined not to give in to his hopeless attraction to her. But at every turn, she had surprised him, drawn him closer. With her radiant smile, the warmth in her eyes, and the curiosity in her heart, with her determination and strength, she had found a way beneath the shell of caution and isolation he had built around himself. And once he had allowed that first touch, he had been lost.

Before her, he hadn't known just how much he had craved that kind of connection, how much he had longed to be touched in both body and soul. Nothing could have prepared him for the happiness he felt in her arms.

A little sound of distress pulled him out of his thoughts. As he looked down on her, he saw her frown, her lips moving as if to talk, a shudder running over her as she twitched against him. A nightmare.

"No, no stop, please!" she gasped.

“Shhh,” Solas made softly, lifting a hand to her face and caressing her cheek. His voice was quiet and soothing as he whispered in elvhen to her, “I’m here. We are safe.”

Slowly, she grew quieter, her eyelids fluttering as she drew in a breath. “Solas?” she asked, blinking in the darkness, her eyes wide and dark as she looked up at him.

“I’m here,” he repeated.

Lyssa sighed, a relief so profound on her face that it made his heart clench, then she smiled and grew heavy in his arms as she fell asleep again.

He continued to caress her face as he watched her sleep, fingertips tracing the soft skin, the curve of her brow and chin, the delicate tips of her ears, brushing over her lips that curved in a dreamy smile at his touch, and slowly, the heaviness lifted from his heart as he felt her heartbeat against him.

Yes, there was still time. Time to love her, to protect her. To be with her.

She woke with the dawn to find him still watching her. With a smile, she kissed him, her body still soft and warm from sleep as she moved against him.

“Remind me we’re alive,” she murmured, her hand wandering down his body, coaxing a sharp intake of breath from him as she cupped him.

And so he did, their sighs and muffled moans filling the room as the golden light of the rising sun flooded through the window. _ I love you_, in every touch, every movement, and he forgot himself in her arms, an unspoken promise not to lose each other in their eyes.

* * *

It was the way she had held him in her arms that morning, golden light shimmering over her skin that he remembered as he fought through the night a few weeks later. Golden locks curling beneath her, spilling over his fingers as he wrapped his hand within it. Her lips had been slightly swollen from his kisses, open in ecstasy, her eyes half-closed but unwilling to look away from him for even a second. His name a sigh falling from her lips as she trembled beneath his touch, and a content smile in the corner of her mouth for the rest of the day.

He had preserved that smile in his sketchbook, among so many drawings of her that he had lost count. He could probably still remember it well enough to recreate it a thousand times more before it would inevitably fade.

But not yet.

Lyssa was somewhere in this keep, fighting through the demons the Wardens had summoned. They had been separated early on, a pride demon whipping lightning into their group, its roar splitting the air like thunder. The horrifying cries of a squad could be heard on the other side of the battlements as several smaller demons advanced on them, and Lyssa hadn’t hesitated for even a second.

“We need to help them! Bull, Varric?”

“On it, boss!” Bull had bellowed, already charging towards the soldiers. Cassia Hawke had been with them, freezing one of the demons even from afar, her brother Carver shattering it just an instant later. And then they had been gone, while Solas held the barrier around their forces as they brought the pride demon down.

There was no time to think as the battle of Adamant Fortress raged around them. The shattering of stone as the ballistae found their targets got drowned in the screams of the dying, the clamor of weapons and screeches of demons.

But it was more than that. The Fade wavered and hissed just beyond Solas’ perception, as another demon clawed through, each rip and ripple another tear that threatened to open far and wide. _ Not yet! _ He willed his magic into the barriers, the remnants of his former power just a thin net holding the demons back, and not for the first time, he cursed his own weakness. A swirl and clash as he slammed his staff onto the ground, sweat on his forehead as he coaxed a tiny rift into being, drawing enemies towards Cullen who fought alongside the second Hawke twin. They made swift progress with them, then hurried towards him.

“Where are they?” Cullen yelled over the noise of the battle.

“Towards the inner ward, I wager,” Solas called back, and the Commander nodded. Adriene Hawke twirled her knives, a grim smile on her face.

“Let’s go,” she called.

It was at that moment that the dragon showed.

The screech chilled the air, and for a second, the fighting stopped.

_ No. _ Was Corypheus here?

Then a call that swept through the ranks. “Join forces! JOIN FORCES!” For a moment, confusion made the people stop fighting; then the wardens stepped back.

“Look at that,” Adriene said, wiping an arm over her forehead but only succeeding in bloodying it even more. “Looks like the Wardens came to their senses!”

“About time,” Cullen muttered.

Commands were being called back and forth, and Cullen immediately took the chance.

“The demons and that dragon is the enemy!” he yelled, thrusting his sword high in the air. “Together!”

The call was picked up by those around him, carried through the ranks. “Together!”

Shoulder to shoulder with the Wardens, it was an easy task to get rid of the demons that were strewn throughout the Fortress, a sense of immediate victory sweeping through the warriors on the battlements even as the dragon’s screech echoed through the wavering night air over and over again.

With a sizzling sound, another demon disappeared, and Solas took a relieved breath. But there was something tugging on the edge of his consciousness, a copper taste in the air, the light still tinged by the greenish glow of rifts. For a moment, he stopped, breathing heavily as he took a potion from a supply cache, the liquid running through his veins like icy fire.

_ Where was Lyssa? _

He hadn’t seen her since she had taken off towards the courtyard where Erimond’s ritual was supposed to take place, and suddenly, he realized just how long ago that had been.

From the middle of the Fortress, screams and the noise of battle could still be heard, the dragon spewing fire and lightning as it swept over the warriors, leaving behind charred and twitching corpses.

“We need to get to the ritual,” Adriene Hawke urged, unease in her eyes.

Cullen shifted the weight of his shield to get a better grip. “Let’s go. Solas?”

Instead of an answer, he just renewed the barrier around them, a shimmering blue within the flying sparks of the fires, his fingers closing more tightly around his staff. Cullen gave him a short nod; then, they started running.

It started as a moan, a vibration through the stone, as if the Fortress itself groaned beneath the onslaught. Several screams could be heard, quickly drowned out by the dragon’s screech; then the ground shook — and from not far away, the unmistakable sound of breaking and falling stone, the dull crash from somewhere beneath as they hit the ground deep down, far below.

The silence that followed was deafening.

It was the absence of the dragon’s screeches, Solas realized a bit later. Without its horrible screams piercing the air, the rest of the ruckus came back — the hissing and crackle of flames, the moans of the dying and hurt, the commands that were yelled across the field and from the battlements. The ballistae were silent, and Solas was dimly aware that the eerie green glow of the rifts had disappeared, but for once, he didn’t care about that at all. Something was wrong, something was deeply wrong, he felt it in every fiber of his being. In the feverish, wide eyes of Adriene, and Cullen’s clenched teeth, he could see that they felt it, too, and they _ ran_.

The first shouts of dismay reached them when they arrived at the upper courtyard. From here, they could already see where the dragon had brought a good part of a smaller courtyard of the Fortress down. There were still stones tumbling down into the Abyssal Rift.

Cullen bellowed commands that Solas paid no attention to, his eyes frantically searching the people in the courtyard, hovering on the corpses of Wardens and a few Inquisition soldiers, then going on. She was not here, and an icy claw was around his heart.

_ Where was she?! _

“Commander,” a trembling voice said, and a young soldier saluted awkwardly, blood splattered all over her uniform and face.

“Speak!” Cullen bellowed, but it still took her a few tries until she could speak.

“Commander, when the dragon brought… the courtyard down… it… they were still here.” The soldier swallowed, wiping something out of her face. A tear, Solas suddenly realized, and he no longer wanted to listen. No._ No. _ But she didn’t stop, every word another stab into his very being.

“The Inquisitor… and the Champion, too. The Iron Bull… Master Tethras… Warden Hawke… they…”

The silence was deafening around them despite Adriene Hawke’s anguished scream as Solas realized he had made a terrible mistake. He had prepared himself to bring grief upon Lyssa, he had prepared himself to leave her behind once he had to take up his duty again… but he had not prepared himself to be left behind.

“Commander, they fell into the abyss.”


	9. Dreams and Nightmares

The moment the words fell, Solas stopped listening to the soldier, stopped listening to the heart-breaking cries of Adriene Hawke or the broken voice of Cullen, stopped listening to the world.

A world without her.

His eyes went towards the ragged, sharp edge from which stones still tumbled into into the horrible, bottomless darkness beneath, an icy fist around his heart, clenching it tighter and tighter until there was no breath left in his lungs.

One step, then another.

A hand on his arm trying to hold him that he shook off, once, twice.

“I have to see it,” he said firmly, or tried to say, but the words were barely more than a broken whisper. The hand no longer tried to stop him, though. He walked over to the edge, fingers closed tightly around his staff, ready to cast in case more of the stones broke.

The Fortress threw a flickering shine into the night, sparks dancing across his periphery and up into the sky. The glow of the fires did not reach far, though. By now, the moons had set, and clouds obscured the stars, the darkness velvety and heavy around them, pressing down into the depths. He tried to will his eyes to pierce it, to show him all the horrible details of the fall, but there was nothing to be seen, just an empty blackness that seemed ready to swallow him.

The mage light he summoned and sent down disappeared silently in the abyss, illuminating only broken, coarse rock before it was too far away that he could see any details. There was no way they, _he_, could find their way down there to search for survivors.

There was no way that there were survivors.

No barrier could break such a fall.

Forcing himself to take a shuddering breath, he closed his eyes as they started to tear from the strain of staring into the blackness. His mind, though, provided only too readily what his eyes couldn’t perceive.

The dragon claws ripping the stone open and down, down, the rocks and screams hurtling through the air as they, as _she_ plummeted down.

Had she still been alive as she fell? Had she seen the Fortress disappear above, faster and faster, until she was swallowed by the darkness, not even seeing the ground coming closer? Or had she already been dead, crushed by the rocks or the dragon, just a silent corpse tumbling down among the rubble?

Had she screamed?

Solas tried to remember if he had heard her scream as he ran towards the courtyard, tried to claw any memory of when he had seen her last from his mind, _please_, anything.

But there was nothing. Nothing beyond that moment when she had called upon Iron Bull and Varric to join her in saving the soldiers. When he had stayed behind, trusting in the fact that they would see each other later. There hadn’t even been a second of doubt about it.

His hands were claws around his staff as he stood upon the precipice, unmoving, the darkness thickening around him, and for a horrible, endless second, he felt like screaming, like ripping this world open anew and plunging everything into the darkness that she had fallen into.

She had died, and he had not been there. She had died _alone_, and he had not been there.

A heart-wrenching sound, half moan, half sob escaped from his lips, and he quickly slapped a hand onto his mouth to smother it.

He knew grief. He had buried so many beloved people, he had screamed in rage and sadness, had taken bloody revenge and even declared war when it had been that one death too many. And he had overcome it, somehow. This was no different, Solas told himself even as he knew that it was.

This was different. _He_ was different. She had changed him, touched him when he had thought himself beyond approach, and that made all the difference.

How often had he lain awake in her arms, trailing her features and caressing her skin while he had told himself that he only needed to wait a little bit longer? Just a little bit longer until the truth would inevitably unfold... And now, she would never know the truth. She had died loving a lie, living a lie. Because he had been too cowardly to tell her the truth about their history, about the vallaslin, about him. He had decided to be selfish, to hide behind the apostate she had fallen for, and so she had never loved _him_. Just the person she thought he was. And his grief was meaningless.

But he had loved her. He still loved her; the broken pieces of his heart tumbling down into the darkness after her.

Slowly, Solas turned away from the abyss, limbs heavy as if chains weighed him down.

Functioning. That was all it could be called, that detached, cool way of dealing with the tasks at hand, gathering the soldiers and caring for the wounded. But it was better than the alternative — which was to break down.

Slowly, the night deepened, the hours crawling along like snails, dragging and painful. Solas concentrated on healing, on watching, on separating himself from the pain that gripped him as soon as his gaze wandered towards the abyss at the edge of the Fortress. Breathing through it, focussing on the next step, and the next. Distancing himself from the praying, weeping people mourning their Herald’s loss, from the pitying looks going his way. He could not let it touch him, not now.

After all, there was still work to do. They still had Corypheus to take care of, even if that task would become more difficult without Lys— the Inquisitor there. They would have to find a way to keep his attention because he still needed to get his orb back. But maybe ruining the next step of his plan would be enough already. And if he judged the advisors correctly, they would find a way to make the Inquisition even stronger without the Inquisitor. Sent by Andraste, now sharing her fate as martyr... the Inquisition might even topple the Chantry if the masses were played accordingly.

Everything could be turned into an advantage if used correctly.

The stars wandered over the night sky, and Solas only realized he had been standing motionless in a hallway for several minutes already when a soldier bumped into him, apologizing fervently before he hurried along. Solas answered something polite out of reflex, blinking a few times. Out of the window, he could see the blackness of the sky starting to change to a dirty grey, the first sign of the coming dawn. Tiredly, he rubbed a hand over his face, and a deep sigh escaped him. The touch reminded him how stoic and frozen his features had been over the course of the last hours. A mask, easy to hide behind. It was the same mask he had worn for so long after he had woken... no, even before that. A mask she had seen through, had made him forget how to—

No.

_Don’t go there._

“Solas.”

Solas closed his eyes for a second to push his emotions back down again, then he turned, putting his hands behind his back and straightening as he looked at the man before him.

“Dorian.”

The Tevinter had red-rimmed eyes, his hair unusually disheveled. For a second, he just looked at Solas, then he walked over to him, coming to stand next to him and putting a hand on his shoulder, giving it a short squeeze before he let it fall down again.

“I... I’m sorry,” Dorian said, barely audible, and his voice had a defeated, tired ring to it.

Silence fell. Solas inclined his head, starting to say the same distant, polite reply he had given these last hours, but the first syllable had barely left his lips when his voice gave out, and he stopped. Something in Dorian’s voice, his behavior, spoke of such feeling and grief that he could not keep his distance.

“I know what you’re doing, you know,” Dorian added, not looking at him, his words heavy. “Duty is easy to hide behind. And I understand. I do.” A deep breath that made Solas turn slightly towards him, his eyes still carefully guarded. Dorian still looked out the window as he spoke. “Keeps your mind occupied.”

More silence, only disturbed by the sounds of passing heavy boots down the hallway, the quieting ruckus of an army settling down outside. Solas did not find it in himself to answer, fearing that his voice might not be what he intended it to be. Dorian did not seem to expect an answer, though.

After a while, he said, “It won’t work forever, Solas. I know you loved her.”

Solas closed his eyes, and his hands balled into fists for a second before he forced himself to relax them again. He swallowed hard, once, twice, unable to answer even if he wanted to. What could he have said anyway? How could he form words around the bleak pain in his heart?

Before he could find his composure again, a green light flashed through the Fortress, a sickly shimmer flickering over the stones, and the tell-tale hiss of a rift in the air.

“Kaffas!” Dorian exclaimed, shocked, in the same moment that Solas turned towards the window with wide eyes, but the next second, the rift closed again, as if it had never been.

The two men looked at each other in utter surprise. Too shocked to think clearly, Solas still stood unmoving when the cries and shouts started to rise.

“She’s back!” — “They’re here!” — “The Herald!” — “Andraste sent her back!”

He ran before the meaning of the words had actually settled in, a desperate hope propelling him forward, Dorian close at his heels.

People were streaming into the courtyard, crying and a jubilant joy in the air. Solas pushed soldiers and Wardens to the side as he made his way through the crowd.

_Lyssa_.

There was a streak of blood over her cheek, and she favored her left leg as she slowly walked away from Cullen. The Commander wore a look of utter pain and crushed hope, standing next to Adriene Hawke who looked dazed, tears streaking her face. Her brother, the Warden, was talking quietly to both of them, an air of grief and deep sadness around them. He could not see Cassia Hawke anywhere, and his heart clenched in sympathy for a second as he realized what this meant. As he watched, Varric went to them, but Solas could not see what he did, all his attention drawn to Lyssa as she spoke to Bull, then smiled at a soldier who knelt down before her, softly shaking her head and motioning him to get up. A few reached out to touch her, an air of reverence washing over the soldiers, but the exhaustion and pain in her face only deepened as her smile faltered slightly.

Solas wanted to move, to go to her, but he found he could only look at her, disbelief, gratefulness and glazing, pure joy flooding him.

She was back.

She was back!

She was not dead, lost in the blackness of the abyss, she was here, alive, smiling. Solas couldn’t stop looking, noting every single detail. Her golden hair disheveled, half out of her braids and curling around her shoulders, one strand plastered over her forehead. The shadows beneath her eyes, betraying her exhaustion. The curve of her lips as she smiled and talked, a slight tremor to it even as she made sure to give attention to those who sought it, if only with a touch or a small smile. The way her eyes lit up as Dorian raced past him and to her, an elated laugh coming from him as he pulled her into his arms. Lyssa closed her eyes as they held each other close, a shimmer of tears in her lashes.

He could not see enough, could not move, could only watch as Dorian spoke to her, and she nodded. The two friends exchanged a few words, and Solas noted the intensity of her gaze as she listened, the slight tilt of her head.

And then she looked at him, following Dorian’s gesture with her eyes, and for the first time in ages, Solas felt like crying.

He had thought he had seen that look of intense emotions for the last time, that shimmer to her eyes and the way they widened slightly as she took a breath and smiled. There was a softness in her eyes that she only had when she looked at him, and then she started moving.

Solas didn’t make a conscious decision to go to her, but in the next second, she was in his arms, and he buried his face in the curve of her neck as he pulled her close. Only when there was no more distance between them, her arms tightly wrapped around him and her breath tickling his skin, he felt whole again.

“Vhenan...” he breathed into her hair, and her arms tightened.

“I’m here,” she murmured, “I’m here.”

“I thought I lost you.” His voice was trembling, and Lyssa pulled back, looking at him with a burning intensity in her eyes. She shook her head, slowly.

“You won’t,” she said. It was more than words. It was a promise, and Solas felt its sincerity and weight in every syllable. “I will never leave you alone.”

The words sank deep into his heart, and for a moment, he could do nothing but look at her.

“Lyssa,” he whispered, cupping her cheek with his hand, and she smiled softly as she laid her hand over his. He wished nothing more than to be alone with her right now instead of in the midst of a crowd. There was so much burning on his tongue, truths and promises, confessions and pleas, but before he could even start to form a coherent thought, someone called for her.

“Inquisitor...” A nervous-looking soldier hovered behind her, wringing his hands. Lyssa sighed soundlessly, then she stepped out of Solas’ embrace without letting go of his hand and turned to the soldier.

She stayed beside him for the rest of the night, perpetually touching him as if to make sure he was still there. Dawn came while she walked around the camp to show the soldiers that she was indeed back. Slowly, the story came together, pieces here and there, untold horrors in the pauses between the words. A rift torn into the Veil and bringing them into the Fade. Nightmare, a demon stronger and more powerful than any other demon they had ever encountered. A spirit in the form of the late Divine, guiding them towards safety. Cassia Hawke, sacrificing herself to stay behind and keep the Nightmare occupied while the rest escaped back into this reality and sealed her in with the demon so it could not come through.

Solas was at her side as she spoke with Warden Hawke about the reparations the Wardens could make; as she tried to comfort Cullen and promised him to do everything in her power to bring his wife back; as she spoke with the mages about trying to find a way to do exactly that. And he caught her as she stumbled in exhaustion the moment they were out of sight in a room at the top of the keep where someone had prepared a meal and a bed for them.

Immediately, he had his arm around her, and Lyssa leaned heavily against him.

“Come, vhenan,” he said, “you need rest.”

Lyssa shook her head. “I can’t sleep here. Not with the Nightmare so close,” she answered tiredly, taking a deep breath and turning into his arms. She leaned her forehead against his, closing her eyes for a moment. Solas held her close, drinking in every second of her proximity, of her touch. There was still a lingering of that dark grief that had grabbed him at her loss, and joyous disbelief at her return.

She opened her eyes again as he moved slightly in her arms. “Solas...” she whispered, the word heavy with emotion and an unspoken plea. It took her only a tiny movement of her head until their lips touched, soft and lingering first, a burning heat beneath it that shivered over his body. Solas did not hesitate, pulling her closer as he kissed her deeply, coaxing her lips open with his tongue as she melted into his embrace. His hand on her neck angled her head just right, and she submitted only too readily to his touches, her hands already tugging at his clothes. Each kiss was an assurance, a promise, a question, filled with need and a touch of desperation.

It was different than the morning after Legrand’s attack, their touches more urgent and yet lingering. They did not take long to undress, the touch of naked skin against skin making the simmering heat left from the kisses flare up into burning flames of desire as Lyssa pressed herself against him to kiss him again. They kept watching each other as they sank onto the bed and trailed fingers over skin as if they needed to convince themselves that they were real, here, together. She opened her legs only too readily for him, her hand on his backside as he breached her, drinking the moans from her lips as he rose and fell within her, each slow thrust a reassurance. He coaxed her pleasure from her with deft fingers, losing himself in her heat as she arched into his touch with his name on her tongue.

Afterwards, he held her while their breaths slowly calmed down. She laid her head on his shoulder, her fingers drawing invisible patterns on his skin, their legs entangled.

“I wasn’t sure if I would make it,” Lyssa said softly. “If we would make it. And all I could think about was that I couldn’t remember if I told you I loved you before we went into battle.”

“I do,” Solas murmured, his eyes locking with hers. “I remember. And you did.”

_Focused, stern, as she adjusted her armor before she turned to him, a short touch of her lips to his, a softening of her eyes as she murmured ‘Be careful, ma’lath.’ She had already turned away when she whipped around once more. ‘I love you,’ she said, ‘I’ll see you later.’_

The smile on her face was as blinding as that morning, and for a moment, he found it hard to breathe. His hand trailed over her back to her neck, one thumb beneath her jaw to tilt her head into his kiss. It lingered even after the kiss, and she sighed contently as she snuggled back against him. For the longest time, neither of them said anything, then she spoke again.

“There were memories, caught in the demon’s realm,” she told him quietly, her fingers still moving on his body. Solas couldn’t help his fascination. Physically walking in the Fade... never had he thought it possible! But he knew better than to give in to his curiosity. Whatever she had seen, experienced there, it had shaken her, that much he could see, and an irrational anger at whatever had spoiled such a unique experience woke in him.

Lyssa’s voice was nearly toneless as she continued, “I think it fed on them. It fed on all of us since we were close. Manifestations of our fears, attacking us, swarming us.” Her hand had stilled, and Solas felt a shiver run over her skin. Instinctively, he pulled her closer, kissing her hair. There was a faraway look on her face as she stared into nothing, remembering. Solas waited patiently, and haltingly, the next words came. “There was... a graveyard. Each grave held a name and their greatest fear.”

She pushed herself up on one elbow, looking intently down on Solas. “I won’t let you die alone, ma’lath.”

His breath caught, and coldness crept into Solas’ limbs at her words. And suddenly, he understood just how haunting their way through the realm had been. If these simple words managed to make his heart stumble and put a heavy, black weight into his stomach, how much more pronounced had that effect been in the Fade itself? With an effort, Solas shook himself, taking a deep breath as he touched her face.

“I know,” he answered softly. She meant it, and the knowledge brought a warm comfort. His thumb brushed over her lip, and she placed a kiss against it. At the tender touch, a weight lifted from him that he hadn’t known was still with him, replaced by a feeling even more dangerous than loving her was.

Hope.

Maybe he could tell her after all. Maybe he could make her understand, maybe she would see past the stories designed to make people fear him. Maybe she could see _him_... and still love him. Maybe they could find a way — together.

“Lyssa...” he started, the words on the tip of his tongue, prickling in the air, his voice dark and hesitant. He could see her take note, tilting her head slightly in the way that showed that she listened to more than what was being said, the warmth in her eyes inviting him to talk. He didn’t think she knew just how alluring she was when she looked at him that way, and he took a deep breath. _There is something I have to tell you... _

The words were just a split-second too late, and suddenly, the courage left him. He let out the breath and asked instead, still caressing her face, “What was written on your gravestone?”

She paused, and something dark flickered in her eyes. It took her a moment to answer, and when she did, her voice was hoarse. “Being left behind.”

His hand on her cheek stilled.

“Ah vhenan,” he whispered, lifting his head until his forehead touched hers. Lyssa closed her eyes, a tremor on her lips before she shook her head once.

“It was just a demon,” she murmured in a futile try to convince herself. “Nothing more.”

He gave her his answer by kissing her again, weaving a shimmering protection around them as she sank into his arms, his magic a familiar barrier around them. As they lost themselves in each other, a promise burned brightly in his heart.

The truth.

He would give her the truth, he swore to himself. He could not, _would_ not lose her again. And he would not leave her in ignorance. He needed just a little bit more time to find a space where he could show her what he needed to show her — without the whole of the Inquisition watching. A place where he could take off the mantle and offer himself to her.

_Vhenan_.

She was his heart, more than even she knew.

Soon, he would tell her. Soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, for your comments and support!! ♥  
This series will continue in November in Flying Sparks. [Make sure to subscribe to the series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1253348) if you want to be notified - or follow me on [Tumblr](https://elveny.tumblr.com/) for updates, snippets, WIPs and other things.


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